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SELECTIONS FROM THE POEMS 

OF 

OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES 



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OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES. 



SELECTIONS FROM THE POEMS ' 

OF 

OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES 



EDITED, WITH AN INTRODUCTION 
AND NOTES 

BY 

J. H. CASTLEMAN, A.M. (Indiana) 

Teacher of English at the McKinley High School, 
St. Louis, Missouri 



Nefo fgarft 
THE MACMILLAN COMPANY 

LONDON: MACMILLAN & CO., Ltd. 
1907 

All rights reserved 



"LIBRARY of CONGRESS 
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COPY B. 



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Copyright, 1907, 
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Set up and electrotyped. Published May, 1907. 



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Norwood, Mass., U.S.A. 



CONTENTS 

Introduction ■ page 

A Brief Life of Holmes xi 

Appreciations xviii 

A List of Holmes' Works xxiii 

Contemporary Authors xxiv 

Biography and Criticism xxv 

-^Humorous Poems 

The Deacon's Masterpiece ...... 1 

tV^ Contentment 6 

The Ballad of the Oysterman 9 

r- The Last Leaf . . -. . . .... 11 

A Modest Request 13 

Verses for After-dinner 22 

The Dorchester Giant .25 

My Aunt 27 

Evening. By a Tailor 29 

The Height of the Ridiculous . . . . . .31 

The Spectre Pig 33 

The Meeting of the Dryads .38 

Lines. Recited at the Berkshire Festival . . . 41 ^ 
A Song. For the Centennial Celebration of Harvard 

College, 1836 44* 

The Old Man of the Sea 46 

To an Insect 49^ 

vii 



viii CONTENTS 

PAGE 

To the Portrait of " A Lady " 51 

, The Comet 52 

Parson Turell's Legacy 55 

The Music-grinders 61 

Class of '29 64 

"The Boys" 66 

The Old Man Dreams 68 

The Sweet Little Man 70 

Nux Postccenatica ........ 73 

On Lending a Punch-bowl 78 

Reflections of a Proud Pedestrian 82 

The Treadmill Song 83 

The Opening of the Piano 85 

Serious Poems 

The Chambered Nautilus 87 

y Under the Violets 88 

The Crooked Footpath 90 

The Voiceless 92 

The Two Streams 93 

The Promise 94 

Avis ( .95 

Agnes 98 

The Ploughman 123 

. The Living Temple . 125 

„ The Only Daughter 128 

Lexington ......... 131 

Old Ironsides ......... 133 

International Ode — Our Fathers' Land .... 134 

v . Qui Vive! 135 

4 Vive La France ! . . 137 

J Brother Jonathan's Lament for Sister Caroline . . 139 



CONTENTS ix 

PAGE 

Under the Washington Elm, Cambridge . . . . 141 

Freedom, Our Queen 142 

Army Hymn 143 

Parting Hymn 144 

The Flower of Liberty .145 

Spring 147 

Spring has Come 150 

Our Limitations 152 

The Old Player . 153 

The Island Ruin 158 

A Mother's Secret 163 

The Secret of the Stars 167 

The Last Reader 170 

The Dying Seneca 173 

s/X Portrait 174 

SA Roman Aqueduct 175 

The Hudson 176 

A Sentiment „ . 177 

The Pilgrim's Vision 178 

The New Eden . . 183 

- The Island Hunting-song 189 

Departed Days 190 

The Only Daughter . . .* 191 

~^Sun and Shadow 194 

The Two Armies 195 

Musa 197 

From a Bachelor's Private Journal 200 

Stanzas 201 

» The Philosopher to his Love 203 

The Star and the Water-lily . . . . .204 

To a Caged Lion 206 



X" CONTENTS 

PAGE 

"" A Good Time Going ! 207 

Robinson of Leyden 210 

( The Cambridge Churchyard 212 

A Poem. Dedication of the Pittsfield Cemetery . . 216 

To an English Friend . . 221 

The Bells 222 

Non-Resistance 224 

For the Burns Centennial Celebration .... 225 
For the Meeting of the Burns Club . ' . . . .228 

Ode for Washington's Birthday 230 

Birthday of Daniel Webster 232 

After a Lecture on Wordsworth 235 

After a Lecture on Moore 239 

After a Lecture on Keats 241 

After a Lecture on Shelley 243 

Urania : a Rhymed Lesson 244 

Notes 275 

Index to Notes 305 



INTRODUCTION 



A BRIEF LIFE OF HOLMES 

Birth and Parentage. — Oliver Wendell Holmes was 
born at Cambridge, Massachusetts, on August 29, 1809, 
the same year that witnessed the birth of Tennyson, 
Poe, Darwin, Lincoln, and Gladstone. He came of 
stanch parentage, his ancestors on both sides having 
played an important part in the early history of the 
New England states. Abiel Holmes, his father, was 
the son of David Holmes, a captain in the British army 
during the French and Indian War, and later a surgeon 
in the American forces of the Revolution. He was a 
Congregational clergyman and the author of an historical 
treatise, 'Annals of America. Sarah Wendell Holmes, 
his mother, was the daughter of Judge Oliver Wendell, 
a member of the prominent New England family by 
that name. 

School Days. — Holmes' childhood was spent in and 
around his native village at study or at play among the 
historic scenes of the neighborhood. At the age of ten 
he was sent to school at Cambridgeport, where he re- 
mained five years, after which he entered Phillips 
Academy at Andover to prepare for college. In 1825 
he matriculated at Harvard with the class of 1829, the 



Xll INTRODUCTION 

most illustrious class that institution has ever known. 
Among his associates were George T. Bigelow, after- 
ward Chief Justice of the Supreme Court of Massa- 
chusetts; Benjamin Pierce, the noted mathematician; 
Samuel F. Smith, author of America; Benjamin R. 
Curtis, the eminent lawyer; and others almost as well 
known. With these he easily took rank, his vivacity 
and companionableness attracting all who came in 
touch with him. 

It was while here that he made his first serious experi- 
ments in literature. Before leaving Andover, he had 
shown his poetic proclivities by translating the first 
book of Virgil's Mneid into heroic couplets after the 
manner of Pope, but now his originality began to 
assert itself. He contributed freely to the college paper 
both in verse and prose, the former especially attracting 
attention. Timely in choice of subject and sparkling 
with humor, it showed many of the characteristics which 
became prominent in his later productions. Naturally 
it fell to him to deliver the class poem at Commence- 
ment. 

Law and Medicine. — After graduation Holmes began 
the reading of law, but, like Bryant, the subject did not 
appeal to him, and he soon abandoned it. He then 
turned to medicine, studying it for a year in Boston, 
then going to Paris to complete his course. He re- 
mained there until the autumn of 1835, working in- 
dustriously through the school months and visiting 



A BRIEF LIFE OF HOLMES xiii 

places of interest during the vacations. The year after 
his return he received the degree of Doctor of Medicine 
and at once set up to practise in Boston. For a while 
he met with considerable success, but distracting 
interests presently interfered, and as they claimed 
more and more of his time, he permitted his attention 
to be drawn away from his work. In 1839 he with- 
drew temporarily from practice to accept the Professor- 
ship of Anatomy at Dartmouth, a position which he 
occupied for two years. During this period he lec- 
tured, and did much research work, the results of 
which he published in the interests of the medical 
world. In 1849 he was elected to the chair of Anatomy 
and Physiology at Harvard Medical School. Here he 
remained for thirty-five years, lecturing, investigating, 
and writing. Many of his treatises were of high 
scientific value and contributed much to the advance- 
ment of his chosen profession. 

Poetry. — While pursuing the study of law, Holmes 
frequently sought relief from his task in writing verse. 
Many of his poems found their way into the columns 
of the Harvard College paper, — among them The 
Spectre Pig, The Meeting of the Dryads, and The Dor- 
chester Giant, — and attracted a considerable local 
interest. But a wider reputation was soon to be his. 
In September, 1830, he read an article in a newspaper, 
which commented on the Navy Department's proposal 
to dismantle the old frigate Constitution, which had 



XIV INTRODUCTION 

done such heroic service in the " War of 1812. " His 
patriotism was at once aroused, and taking a pencil, he 
dashed off the stirring protest, Old Ironsides, which he 
sent to the Boston Daily Advertiser. It was copied far 
and wide, and not only created such a sentiment that 
the vessel was saved, but spread the fame of its young 
author throughout the country as well. 

Other poems of merit followed shortly after, the most 
noticeable of which were My Aunt, The Treadmill 
Song, The Ballad of the Oysterman, and best of all, 
The Last Leaf. In 1836 Holmes was invited to deliver 
the annual poem before the Phi Beta Kappa Society at 
Harvard. That same year he published his first volume 
of verse, made up of some thirty poems, which was 
well received. In fact, so deep an impression did it 
make that his poetry came into the greatest demand. 
It was discovered that he had the happy faculty of 
being able to write verses appropriate to all occasions, 
and no gathering, grave or gay, was complete without 
his genial presence and his well- wrought rhymes. Some 
of his finest productions were made possible in this way, 
as, for example, The Boys, The Class of '29, The Plough- 
man, The New Eden, and Parson TurelVs Legacy. In 
1846 Urania : a Rhymed Lesson, a poem of consider- 
able length, appeared, which added to his growing 
fame. It was followed in 1850, by Astrwa : the Balance 
of Illusions, which was made up of such poems as 
Spring, The Bells, and Our Limitations. Then came 



A BRIEF LIFE OF HOLMES XV 

Songs in Many Keys in 1861, containing among other 
favorites Agnes, N on- Resistance, The Old Player, The 
Voiceless, The Old Man of the Sea, and The Living 
Temple. A complete edition of his poems appeared in 
1864 and Songs of Many Seasons in 1875. The former 
volume included many of the author's most famous 
works, among them being The Chambered Nautilus, 
Contentment, The Deacon's Masterpiece, and Sun and 
Shadow, all of which had previously come out in The 
Autocrat of the Breakfast Table. The final volumes of 
his poems were The Iron Gate in 1880; Before the 
Curfew in 1888; and a complete collection of his 
poetical works in 1895. 

As a poet Holmes ranks with Longfellow, Whittier, 
Lowell, Bryant, and Emerson. While he differs much 
from them, the standard he has reached is as high as 
that which they attained. Mr. George Stewart in 
commenting on this in The Arena for July, 1891, said: 
" In lofty verse he is strong and unconventional, writing 
always with a firm grasp on his subject, and emphasiz- 
ing his perfect knowledge of melody and metre. As a 
writer of occasional verse, he has not had an equal in 
our time, and his pen for threescore years has been 
put to frequent use in celebration of all sorts of events, 
— whether military, literary, or scientific. Bayard 
Taylor said: ' He lifted the occasional into the classic/ 
and the phrase happily expresses the truth. The 
vivacious character of his nature readily lends itself to 



xvi INTRODUCTION 

work of this sort, and though the printed page gives the 
reader the sparkling epigram and the graceful lines, 
clear-cut always and full of soul, the pleasure is not 
quite the same as seeing and hearing him recite his 
own poems in the company of congenial friends. His 
songs are full of sunshine and heart, and his literary 
manner wins by its simplicity and tenderness/ ' 

Prose. — While it is as a poet that Holmes is most 
widely known, he added very materially to his fame as 
an author by writing much excellent prose. He used 
almost every form in this department of literature, his 
productions including essays, — scientific and miscel- 
laneous, — novels, and biography, besides those un- 
classified and unexcelled papers, The Breakfast Table 
Series. When the Atlantic Monthly was founded in 
1857, Lowell, as editor, asked Holmes to contribute. 
He responded by writing The Autocrat of the Breakfast 
Table, which was published in book form in 1859, and 
which at once placed him in the front rank of American 
prose writers. Mr. Henry S. Pancoast in speaking of 
it in his Introduction to American Literature says: " By 
a guiding instinct, or happy accident, Boston's famous 
talker had here hit upon — or perhaps we may rather 
say created — a literary form which showed his mastery 
in his own domain. The book purports to be the record 
of the table-talk of a Boston boarding-house. It is, 
indeed, less a conversation than a monologue in a 
dramatic setting; variety, humor, and human interest 



A BRIEF LIFE OF HOLMES xvii 

being furnished by the casual introduction of the 
various boarders, whose remarks or questions serve to 
bring out the Autocrat's best wit and wisdom. " Other 
works in the same vein followed at intervals, — The 
Professor at the Breakfast Table in 1860; The Poet at 
the Breakfast Table in 1872; and Over the Tea- Cups in 
1890. None of the later ones, however, are equal in 
quality to the first. 

The novels, although considerably inferior to The 
Breakfast Table Series, are well worth studying. They 
are especially interesting to persons acquainted with 
psychology, for they are metaphysical in nature, dealing 
with "the effect of some innate or hereditary influence 
on human character and action." From the stand- 
point of style, their chief merit lies in the character 
portrayal, their chief defect in the structure of the plot. 
Elsie Venner, the best of the series, was published in 
1861; The Guardian Angel in 1868; and A Moral 
Antipathy in 1885. 

As a prose writer Holmes shows much individuality, 
and his works, whether grave or gay, have the clear- 
cut crispness and the brilliant sparkle of high polish. 
LittelFs Living Age for March, 1895, aptly says: "He 
blends comedy and seriousness, humor and pathos, wit 
and sentiment, with the admirable dexterity that 
heightens their effect by harmonious contrast. His wild- 
est freaks of humor are yet allied with manly feeling, 
shrewd observation, sound sense, and genial wisdom." 



X viii IN TROD UCTION 

Last Years and Death. — In 1882 Holmes resigned 
his professorship at Harvard. The next year, accom- 
panied by his daughter, he visited Europe for a few 
months, where he was received with marked attention. 
Tennyson and Carlyle entertained him; and the univer- 
sities of Edinburgh, Cambridge, and Oxford presented 
him with degrees. On his return he was met with 
acclamations of delight by his many friends who had 
missed his congenial presence and words of cheer. 
Although so far advanced in age, his years sat lightly 
upon him. Troubles in many forms came upon him 
toward the last, but his spirit was not daunted. He 
continued to write, although blindness threatened him; 
he smiled on, although his dearest friends and asso- 
ciates were falling rapidly around him. At last it came 
his time to go. He died painlessly and peacefully on 
October 10, 1894. 

APPRECIATIONS 

Passing to Holmes from Emerson, Hawthorne, or 
Lowell, we are aware that he is of a slighter intellectual 
build; that his especial faculty is not so much depth 
or power, as an inimitable lightness, deftness, and grace. 
In a word, while he is many other things, he is pre- 
eminently the humorist, the kindly, keen-witted, fun- 
loving spirit, whose audacious flashes of merriment 
startled the solemn gloom that had so long hung 



APPRECIATIONS XIX 

heavily over New England. Few authors have put 
more of their personality into their writings. Whether 
he wrote prose or verse, medical lectures, or " medicated 
novels," the result in any case was but an overflow of 
the man himself. . . . His muse, if not often very 
lofty, was always surprisingly prompt and available. A 
fluent versifier, with an easy, agreeable flow of metre, 
with wit, good-fellowship, and enough real feeling to 
serve as a corrective, he became incomparably the best 
and the most popular of our writers of poems for 
especial occasions. The dedication of a cemetery, or a 
State dinner; the meeting of a medical association, or 
the anniversary of an agricultural society; centennial 
and semi-centennial celebrations, and a long succession 
of class-reunions, — on all such occasions Holmes 
showed his happy gift of putting into verse the fitting 
words. A greater poet might perhaps have done it less 
easily, but for the occasion Holmes did it inimitably well. 

Henry S. Pancoast, An Introduction to American Literature. 

Holmes has opinions on a great variety of subjects, 
and it is his delight to express them, whether in speech, 
in prose, or in rhyme. He has thought discursively and 
independently, and the results of his thinking tend to 
formulate themselves in epigrammatic form: relations 
are pointed out between things apparently remote; 
there is a considerable sparkle of wit, and he says a 
surprising number of what are termed " good things." 



XX INTRODUCTION 

He refreshes commonplaces more often than he creates 
or discovers; and we are oftener indebted to him for 
refined amusement than for absolute information. Yet 
he gives an abundance of both. . . . No author of 
Holmes' caliber has covered a broader range in litera- 
ture, or has so seldom failed; yet, broad though his 
range is, he is, himself, not deep. He is many-sided, 
and touches life at many points; but the touch, though 
accurate and reasonable, is light — never profound. 
He is cheerful, vivacious, kindly, rational, shrewd: with 
a strong vein of sentiment lying side by side with the 
keenest sense of the ridiculous. He is not great; but 
what there is of him is very good, and, if his writings 
afforded nothing else than pure and wholesome enter- 
tainment, they afford so much of that that we owe him 
a debt. 

Holmes' representative poems are The Constitution, 
The Wonderful One-Horse Shay, and The Chambered 
Nautilus — the first illustrating his patriotic style, the 
next his comic humor, and the third his highest senti- 
ment. § 

Julian Hawthorne and Leonard Lemmon, American 
Literature, D. C. Heath and Co. 

We think of Holmes first as a poet. There are some 
of his poems which are in every one's mind, which live 
in our memories, and rise to our lips. Certain of his 
poems like The Chambered Nautilus, The Last Leaf, or 
Old Ironsides, are in every collection. They have passed 



APPRECIATIONS xxi 

into our speech, they have become a part of our in- 
heritance; and greater assurance of remembrance than 
this, no man can have. 

Dr. Holmes is perhaps most often thought of as a 
poet of occasion, and certainly no one has ever sur- 
passed him in this field. He was always apt, always 
happy, always had the essential lightness of touch, and 
the right mingling of wit and sentiment. But he was 
very much more than a writer of occasional poems, and 
his extraordinary success in this direction has tended 
to obscure his much higher successes, and to cause men 
to overlook the fact that he was a true poet in the best 
sense. The brilliant occasional poems were only the 
glitter on the surface, and behind them lay depths of 
feeling and beauties of imagery and thought to which 
full justice has not yet been, but surely will be, done. . . . 
In his poetry and in his mastery of all forms of verse, 
he showed the variety of talent which was perhaps his 
most characteristic quality. He had a strong bent 
toward the kind of poetry of which Pope is the best 
example, and possessed much in common with the 
author of the Essay on Man. He had the same easy 
flow in his verse, the same finish, wit of a kindlier sort, 
the same wisdom without any attempt at rhymed meta- 
physics and the same power of saying, in smooth and 
perfect lines, 

" What oft was thought 
But ne'er so well expressed." 



xxii INTRODUCTION 

The metrical form which is so identified with Pope 
always seemed to appeal to Dr. Holmes, and, when he 
employed it, it lost nothing in his hands. But this was 
only one of many instruments which he used. He was 
admirable in narrative and ballad poetry. He ven- 
tured often into the dangerous domain of comic poetry, 
where so few have succeeded and so many failed, and 
he always came out successful, saved by the sanity and 
balance which one always feels in everything he wrote. 
Of a much higher order were the poems of dry humor, 
where a kindly satire and homely wisdom pointed the 
moral. But he did work far finer and better than all 
this, excellent as this was in its kind. I remember his 
saying to me in speaking of orators and writers, that 
once or twice in the lives of such men there came a 
time when they did, in the boy's phrase, " a little 
better than they knew how." I naturally asked if 
such a moment had ever come to him. He smiled, and 
I well recall his reply, — " Yes, I think in The Chambered 
Nautilus I may have done a little better than I knew 
how." There can be no doubt that in that beautiful 
poem, which we all know by heart, there is a note of 
noble aspiration which is found only in the best work. 
But that is not the only one by any means. That 
aspiring note is often heard in his verse. 

Henry Cabot Lodge, North American Review for Decem- 
ber, 1894, 



A LIST OF HOLMES' WORKS xxill 

A LIST OF HOLMES' WORKS 

Verse 
Poetry (1836) 

Urania: a Rhymed Lesson (1846) 
Astrsea: the Balance of Illusions (1850) 
Songs in Many Keys (1861) 
Poems (1864) 

Songs of Many Seasons (1875) 
The Iron Gate (1880) 
Before the Curfew (1888) 
Complete Poetical Works (1895) 

Prose 

The "Breakfast Table" Series 

The Autocrat of the Breakfast Table (1859) 
The Professor at the Breakfast Table (1860) 
The Poet at the Breakfast Table (1872) 
Over the Tea-Cups (1890) 

Novels 

Elsie Venner, a Romance of Destiny (1861) 
The Guardian Angel (1868) 
A Moral Antipathy (1885) 

Biography 

Memoirs of John Lothrop Motley (1879) 
Memoirs of Ralph Waldo Emerson (1884) 



xxiv INTRODUCTION 

Miscellaneous 

Medical Essays — selected (1883) 

Pages from an old Volume of Life — selected from 

• miscellaneous volumes (1883) 
Our Hundred Days in Europe (1887) 

CONTEMPORARY AUTHORS 

American 

William Cullen Bryant (1794-1878) 
Ralph Waldo Emerson (1803-1882) 
Nathaniel Hawthorne (1804-1864) 
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow (1807-1882) 
John Greenleaf Whittier (1807-1892) 
Edgar Allan Poe (1809-1849) 
James Russell Lowell (1819-1891) 
Walt Whitman (1819-1892) 

English 

Thomas Carlyle (1795-1881) 

Thomas Babington Macaulay (1800-1859) 

Elizabeth Barrett Browning (1806-1861) 

Alfred Tennyson (1809-1892) 

Charles Darwin (1809-1882) 

William Makepeace Thackeray (1811-1863) 

Robert Browning (1812-1889) 



BIOGRAPHY AND CRITICISM xxv 

Charles Dickens (1812-1870) 

George Eliot (Marian Evans) (1819-1880) 

John Ruskin (1819-1900) 

Matthew Arnold (1822-1888) 

BIOGRAPHY AND CRITICISM 

Biography : Life and Letters, by John T. Morse, Jr. ; 
Life, by W. S. Kennedy; Life, by Emma E. Brown. 

Criticism: Stedman's Poets of America; Matthews' 
Introduction to American Literature; Wendell's A 
Literary History of America; Curtis' Literary and 
Social Essays; Whipple's Essays and Reviews; Haweis' 
American Humorists; Higginson's Old Cambridge; 
Howells' Literary Friends and Acquaintance. 



HOLMES' POEMS 

°THE DEACON'S MASTERPIECE 
OR THE WONDERFUL " ONE-HOSS-SHAY " 

A LOGICAL STORY 

Have you heard of the wonderful one-hoss-shay, 

That was built in such a logical way 

It ran a hundred years to a day, 

And then, of a sudden, it — ah, but stay, 

Til tell you what happened without delay, 5 

Scaring the parson into fits, 

Frightening people out of their wits, — 

Have you ever heard of that, I say ? 

Seventeen hundred and fifty-five. 

°Georgius Secundus was then alive — 10 

Snuffy old drone from the German hive ! 
°That was the year when Lisbon-town 
Saw the earth open ttnd gulp her down, 
°And Braddock's army was done so brown, 
Left without a scalp to its crown. i 5 

b 1 



2 HOLMES' POEMS 

It was on the terrible Earthquake day 
That the Deacon finished the one-hoss-shay. 

Now in building of chaises, I tell you what, 

There is always somewhere a weakest spot, — 

In hub, tire, felloe, in spring or thill, 20 

In panel or crossbar, or floor or sill, 

In screw, bolt, thoroughbrace, — lurking still, 

Find it somewhere you must and will, 

Above or below, or within or without, 

And that's the reason, beyond a doubt, 25 

A chaise breaks down, but doesn't wear out. 

But the Deacon swore (as Deacons do, 

With an "I dew vum" or an "I tell yeou"), 

He would build one shay to beat the taown 

'N' the keounty V all the kentry raoun'; 30 

It should be so built that it couldn't break daown; 

"Fur," said the Deacon, " 't's mighty plain 

That the weakes' place mu' stan' the strain ; 

'N' the way t' fix it, uz I maintain, 

Is only jest 35 

To make that place uz strong uz the rest." 

So the Deacon inquired of the village folk 

Where he could find the strongest oak, 

That couldn't be split, nor bent, ri*)r broke, 

That was for spokes and floors and sills ; 40 

He sent for lancewood to make the thills; 



THE DEACON'S MASTERPIECE 3 

The crossbars were ash, from the straightest trees ; 

The panels of white-wood, that cuts like cheese, 

But lasts like iron for things like these ; 

The hubs of logs from the " Settler's ellum," 45 

Last of its timber, they couldn't sell 'em. 

Never an axe had seen their chips, 

And the wedges flew from between their lips, 

Their blunt ends frizzled like celery tips ; 

Step and prop-iron, bolt and screw, so 

Spring, tire, axle, and linchpin too, 

Steel of the finest, bright and blue; 

Thoroughbrace bison-skin, thick and wide; 

Boot-top dasher, from tough old hide 

Found in the pit when the tanner died, 55 

That was the way he "put her through." 

"There!" said the Deacon, "naow she'll dew!" 

Do ! I tell you, I rather guess 

She was a wonder and nothing less ! 

Colts grew horses, beards turned gray, 60 

Deacon and Deaconess dropped away, 

Children and grandchildren — where were they ? 

But there stood the stout old one-hoss-shay 

As fresh as on Lisbon-Earthquake day ! 

EIGHTEEN HUNDRED;— it came and found 65 

The Deacon's Masterpiece strong and sound. 
Eighteen hundred increased by ten ; — 



4 HOLMES' POEMS 

"Hahnsum kerridge" they called it then; 

Eighteen hundred and twenty came; — 

Running as usual ; much the same. 70 

Thirty and forty at last arrive, 

And then came fifty, and FIFTY-FIVE. 

Little of all we value here 

Wakes on the morn of its hundredth year 

Without both feeling and looking queer. 75 

In fact, there's nothing that keeps its youth, 

So far as I know, but a tree and truth. 

(This is a moral that runs at large; 

Take it. — You're welcome. — No extra charge.) 

FIRST OF NOVEMBER, — the Earthquake day— 80 

There are traces of age in the one-hoss-shay, 

A general flavor of mild decay, 

But nothing local, as one may say. 

There couldn't be, — for the Deacon's art 

Has made it so like in every part 85 

That there wasn't a chance for one to start. 

For the wheels were just as strong as the thills, 

And the floors were just as strong as the sills, 

And the panels just as strong as the floor, 

And the whippletree neither less nor more, 90 

And the back crossbar as strong as the fore, 

And spring and axle and hub encore. 



THE DEACON'S MASTERPIECE 5 

And yet, as a whole, it is past a doubt 
In another hour it will be worn out ! 

First of November, 'Fifty-five ! 95 

This morning the parson takes a drive. 

Now, small boys, get out of the way ! 

Here comes the wonderful one-hoss-shay, 

Drawn by a rat-tailed, ewe-necked bay. 

" Huddup I" said the parson. — Off went they. 100 

The parson was working his Sunday's text, — 

Had got to fifthly, and stopped perplexed 

At what the — Moses — was coming next. 

All at once the horse stood still, 

Close by the meet'n'-house on the hill. 105 

First a shiver and then a thrill, 

Then something decidedly like a spill, — 

And the parson was sitting upon a rock, 

At half-past-nine by the meet'n'-house clock — 

Just the hour of the earthquake-shock ! no 

— What do you think the parson found, 

When he got up and stared around ? 

The poor old chaise in a heap or mound, 

As if it had been to the mill and ground ! 

You see, of course, if you're not a dunce, 115 

How it went to pieces all at once, — 

All at once, and nothing first, — 

Just as bubbles do when they burst. 



HOLMES 1 POEMS 



End of the wonderful one-hoss-shay. 
Logic is logic. That's all I say. 



CONTENTMENT 

°" Man wants but little here below." 

Little I ask ; my wants are few ; 

I only wish a hut of stone, 
(A very plain brown stone will do) , 

That I may call my own; — 
And close at hand is such a one, 
In yonder street that fronts the sun. 

Plain food is quite enough for me ; 

Three courses are as good as ten; 
If Nature can subsist on three, 

Thank Heaven for three. Amen ! 
I always thought cold victuals nice, — 
My choice would be vanilla ice. 

I care not much for gold or land, — 
Give me a mortgage here and there, — 

Some good bank-stock, — some note of hand, 15 
Or trifling railroad share ; — 

I only ask that Fortune send 

A little more than I shall spend. 



CONTENTMENT 



Honors are silly toys, I know, 

And titles are but empty names; 20 

°I would, perhaps, be Plenipo, 

But only near St. James; 
I'm very sure I should not care 
To fill our °Gubernator ; s chair. 

Jewels are baubles ; 'tis a sin 25 

To care for such unfruitful things ; 
One good-sized diamond in a pin, 

Some, not so large, in rings, 
A ruby, and a pearl, or so, 
Will do for me, — I laugh at show. 30 

My dame should dress in cheap attire; 

(Good, heavy silks are never dear) ; 
I own perhaps I might desire 

Some °shawls of true cashmere, 
Some marrowy crepes of China silk, 35 

Like wrinkled skins on scalded milk. 

I would not have the horse I drive 
So fast that folks must stop and stare; 

°An easy gait, — two forty-five — 

Suits me ; I do not care ; 40 

Perhaps for just a single spurt 

Some seconds less would do no hurt. 



HOLMES' POEMS 

Of pictures, I should like to own 

°Titians and Raphaels three or four, 

I love so much their style and tone, 45 

One Turner, and no more, 

(A landscape, foreground golden dirt; 

The sunshine painted with a squirt) . 

Of books but few, some fifty score 

For daily use, and bound for wear; 50 

The rest upon an upper floor; 

Some little luxury there 
Of red morocco's gilded gleam, 
And vellum rich as country cream. 

Busts, cameos, gems, — such things as these, 55 

Which others often show for pride, 
I value for their power to please, 

And selfish churls deride; 
One °Stradivarius, I confess, 
Two °Meerschaums, I would fain possess. 60 

Wealth's wasteful tricks I will not learn, 

Nor ape the glittering upstart fool ; 
Shall not carved tables serve my turn ? 

But all must be of °buhl. 
Give grasping pomp its double share, 65 

I ask but one recumbent chair. 



THE BALLAD OF THE OYSTER MAN 9 

Thus humble let me live and die, 

Nor long for °Midas ? golden touch; 
If Heaven more generous gifts deny, 

I shall not miss them much, 70 

Too grateful for the blessing lent 
Of simple tastes and mind content ! 



THE BALLAD OF THE OYSTERMAN 

It was a tall young oysterman lived by the river-side, 
His shop was just upon the bank, his boat was on the 

tide ; 
The daughter of a fisherman, that was so straight and 

slim, 
Lived over on the other bank, right opposite to him. 
It was the pensive oysterman that saw a lovely maid, 5 
Upon the moonlight evening, a sitting in the shade; 
He saw her wave her handkerchief, as much as if to say, 
"I'm wide awake, young oysterman, and all the folks 

away." 

Then up arose the oysterman, and to himself said he, 
" I guess I'll leave the skiff at home, for fear that folks 

should see; 10 

I read it in the story book, that, for to kiss his dear, 
°Leander swam the Hellespont, — and I will swim this 

here." 



10 HOLMES' POEMS 

And he has leaped into the waves, and crossed the 

shining stream, 
And he has clambered up the bank, all in the moonlight 

gleam ; 
O there were kisses sweet as dew, and words as soft as 

rain, — 15 

But they have heard her father's step, and in he leaps 

again ! 

Out spoke the ancient fisherman, — " O what was that, 
my daughter ?" 

"'Twas nothing but a pebble, sir, I threw into the 
water ;" 

" And what is that, pray tell me, love, that paddles off 
so fast?" 

"It's nothing but a porpoise, sir, that's been a swim- 
ming past." 20 

Out spoke the ancient fisherman, — " Now bring me 
my harpoon ! 

I'll get into my fishing-boat, and fix the fellow soon;" 

Down fell that pretty innocent, as falls a snow-white 
lamb, 

Her hair drooped round her pallid cheeks, like sea- 
weed on a clam. 

Alas for those two loving ones ! she waked not from her 
swound, 25 



THE LAST LEAF 11 

And he was taken with the cramp, and in the waves 

was drowned; 
But Fate has metamorphosed them, in pity of their woe, 
And now they keep an oyster-shop for mermaids down 

below. 

THE LAST LEAF 

°I saw him once before, 
As he passed by the door, 

And again 
The pavement stones resound, 
As he totters o'er the ground 5 

With his cane. 

They say that in his prime, 
Ere the pruning-knife of Time 

Cut him down, 
Not a better man was found IO 

By the Crier on his round 

Through the town. 

But now he walks the streets, 
And he looks at all he meets 

Sad and wan, 15 

And he shakes his feeble head, 
That it seems as if he said, 

"They are gone." 



12 HOLMES' POEMS 

The mossy marbles rest 

On the lips that he has prest 20 

In their bloom, 
And the names he loved to hear 
Have been carved for many a year 

On the tomb. 

My grandmamma has said, — 25 

Poor old lady, she is dead 

Long ago, — 
That he had a Roman nose, 
And his cheek was like a rose 

In the snow. 30 

But now his nose is thin, 
And it rests upon his chin 

Like a staff, 
And a crook is in his back, 
And a melancholy crack 35 

In his laugh. 

I know it is a sin 
For me to sit and grin 

At him here; 
But the old three-cornered hat, 40 

And the breeches, and all that, 

Are so queer ! 



A MODEST REQUEST 13 

°And if I should live to be 
The last leaf upon the tree 

In the spring, — 45 

Let them smile, as I do now, 
At the old forsaken bough 

Where I cling. 



A MODEST REQUEST 



EVERETT S INAUGURATION 

Scene, — a back parlor in a certain square, 
Or court, or lane, — in short, no matter where; 
Time, — early morning, dear to simple souls 
Who love its sunshine, and its fresh-baked rolls ; 
Persons, — take pity on this telltale blush, 
That, like the iEthiop, whispers, "Hush, O Hush !' 
Delightful scene ! where smiling comfort broods, 
Nor business frets, nor anxious care intrudes; 
°0 si sic omnia ! were it ever so ! 
But what is stable in this world below ! 

°Medio e fonte, — Virtue has her faults, — 
The clearest fountains taste of °Epsom salts; 
We snatch the cup and lift to drain it dry, — 
Its central dimple holds a drowning fly ! 



14 HOLMES' POEMS 

Strong is the pine by Maine's ambrosial streams, 15 
But stronger augers pierce its thickest beams ; 
No iron gate, no spiked and panelled door, 
Can keep out death, the postman, or the bore — 

for a world where peace and silence reign, 

And blunted dulness terebrates in vain ! 20 

— The door bell jingles, — enter Richard Fox, 
And takes this letter from his leathern box. 

" Dear Sir, 

In writing on a former day, 
One little matter I forgot to say; 25 

1 now inform you in a single line, 

On Thursday next our purpose is to dine. 

The act of feeding, as you understand, 

Is but a fraction of the work in hand ; 

Its nobler half is that ethereal meat 30 

The papers call ' the intellectual treat ; ; 

Songs, speeches, toasts, around the festive board, 

Drowned in the juice the College pumps afford; 

For only water flanks our knives and forks. 

So, sink or float, we swim without the corks. 35 

Yours is the art, by native genius taught, 

To clothe in eloquence the naked thought ; 

Yours is the skill its music to prolong 

Through the sweet effluence of mellifluous song; 

Yours the quaint trick to cram the pithy line 40 

That cracks so crisply over bubbling wine ; 



A MODEST REQUEST 15 

And since success your various gifts attends, 

We, — that is I and all your numerous friends, — 

Expect from you, — your single self a host, — 

A speech, a song, excuse me, and a toast ; 45 

Nay, not to haggle to so small a claim, 

A few of each, or several of the same. 

(Signed) Yours, most truly, " 

No ! my sight must fail, — 
If that ain't Judas on the largest scale ! 50 

Well, this is modest; — nothing else than that? 
My coat ? my boots ? my pantaloons ? my hat ? 
My stick ? my gloves ? as well as all my w T its, 
Learning and linen, — everything that fits ! 

Jack, said my lady, is it grog you'll try, 55 

Or punch, or toddy, if perhaps you're dry ? 

Ah, said the sailor, though I can't refuse, 

You know, my lady, 'tain't for me to choose; — 

I'll take the grog to finish off my lunch, 

And drink the toddy while you mix the punch. 60 

The Speech. (The speaker, rising to be seen, 

Looks very red, because so very green.) 

I rise — I rise — with unaffected fear, 

(Louder ! — speak louder ! — who the deuce can hear ?) 

I rise — I said — with undisguised dismay — 65 

— Such are my feelings as I rise, I say ! 



16 HOLMES' POEMS 

Quite unprepared to face this learned throng, 
Already gorged with eloquence and song ; 
Around my view are ranged on either hand 
The genius, wisdom, virtue of the land; 70 

°" Hands that the rod of empire might have swayed " 
Close at my elbow stir their lemonade ; 
Would you like °Homer learn to write and speak, 
That bench is groaning with its weight of Greek ! 
Behold the naturalist that in his teens 75 

Found six new species in a dish of greens; 
And lo, the master in a statelier walk, 
Whose annual ciphering takes a ton of chalk; 
And there the linguist, that by common roots 
Through all their nurseries tracks old °Noah ; s shoots, — 80 
How Shem's proud children reared the Assyrian piles, 
While Ham's were scattered through the Sandwich 
Isles ! 

— Fired at the thought of all the present shows, 

My kindling fancy down the future flows; 

I see the glory of the coming days 85 

O'er Time's horizon shoot its streaming rays; 

Near and more near the radiant morning draws 

In living lustre (rapturous applause) ; 

From east to west the blazing heralds run, 

Loosed from the chariot of the ascending sun, 9° 

Through the long vista of uncounted years 

In cloudless splendor (three tremendous cheers) . 



A MODEST REQUEST 17 

My eye prophetic, as the depths unfold, 

Sees a new advent of the age of gold; 

While o'er the scene new generations press, 95 

New heroes rise the coming time to bless, — 

Not such as Homer's, who, we read in °Pope, 

Dined without forks and never heard of soap, — 

Not such as May to Marlborough Chapel brings, 

Lean, hungry, savage, anti-everythings, 100 

°Copies of Luther in the pasteboard style, — 

But genuine articles, — the true °Carlyle ; 

While far on high the blazing orb shall shed 

Its central light on Harvard's holy head, 

And Learning's ensigns ever float unfurled 105 

Here in the focus of the new-born world ! 

The speaker stops, and, trampling down the pause, 
Roars through the hall the thunder of applause, 
One stormy gust of long suspended Ahs ! 
One whirlwind chaos of insane hurrahs ! no 

The Song. But this demands a briefer line, — 
A shorter muse, and not the old long °Nine; — 
Long metre answers for a common song, 
Though common metre does not answer long. 

She came beneath the forest dome 115 

To seek its peaceful shade, 



18 HOLMES' POEMS 

An exile from her ancient home, — 

A poor forsaken maid ; 
No banner, flaunting high above, 

No -blazoned cross, she bore; 120 

One holy book of light and love 

Was all her worldly store. 

The dark brown shadows passed away, 

And wider spread the green, 
And, where the savage used to stray, 125 

The rising mart was seen ; 
So, when the laden winds had brought 

Their showers of golden rain, 
Her lap some precious gleanings caught 

°Like Ruth's amid the grain. 130 

But wrath soon gathered uncontrolled 

Among the baser churls, 
To see her ankles red with gold, 

Her forehead white with pearls; 
u Who gave to thee the glittering bands 135 

That lace thine azure veins ? 
Who bade thee lift those snow-white hands 

We bound in gilded chains?" 

These are the gems my children gave, 

The stately dame replied ; 140 



A MODEST BEQUEST 19 

The wise, the gentle, and the brave, 

I nurtured at my side ; 
If envy still your bosom stings, 

Take back their rims of gold; 
My sons will melt their wedding rings, 145 

And give a hundred fold ! 

The Toast. — tell me, ye who thoughtless ask 

Exhausted nature for a threefold task, 

In wit or pathos if one share remains, 

A safe investment for an ounce of brains ? 150 

Hard is the job to launch the desperate pun, 

A pun- job dangerous as the Indian one. 

Turned by the current of some stronger wit 

Back from the object that you mean to hit, 

Like the strange missile which the Australian throws, 155 

Your verbal boomerang slaps you on the nose. 

One vague inflection spoils the whole with doubt, 

One trivial letter ruins all, left out; 

A knot can choke a felon into clay, 

A not will save him, spelled without the k; 160 

The smallest word has some unguarded spot, 

And danger lurks in I without a dot. 

Thus great °Achilles, who had shown his zeal 
In healing wounds, died of a wounded heel; 
Unhappy chief, who, when in childhood doused 165 

Had saved his bacon, had his feet been soused I 



20 HOLMES' POEMS 

Accursed heel that killed a hero stout ! 

O, had your mother known that you were out, 

Death had not entered at the trifling part 

That still defies the small chirurgeon's art 170 

With corns and bunions, — not °the glorious John 

Who wrote the book we all have pondered on, 

But other bunions, bound in fleecy hose, 

To " Pilgrim's Progress " unrelenting foes! 

A health, unmingled with the reveller's wine, 175 

To him whose title is indeed divine; 

Truth's sleepless watchman on her midnight tower, 

Whose lamp burns brightest when the tempests lower. 

O who can tell with what a leaden flight 

Drag the long watches of his weary night; 180 

While at his feet the hoarse and blinding gale 

Strews the torn wreck and bursts the fragile sail, 

When stars have faded, when the wave is dark, 

When rocks and sands embrace the floundering bark, 

And still he pleads with unavailing cry, 185 

Behold the light, O wanderer, look or die ! 

A health, fair °Themis ! Would the enchanted vine 
Wreathed its green tendrils round this cup of thine ; 
If Learning's radiance fill thy modern court, 
Its glorious sunshine streams through °Blackstone's 
port ! 190 

Lawyers are thirsty, and their clients too, 
Witness at least, if memory serve me true, 



A MODEST REQUEST 21 

Those old tribunals, famed for dusty suits, 

Where men sought justice ere they brushed their boots; 

And what can match, to solve a learned doubt, 195 

The warmth within that comes from u cold without "? 

Health to the art whose glory is to give 

The crowning boon that makes it life to live. 

Ask not her home; — the rock where Nature flings 

Her arctic lichen, last of living things, 200 

The gardens, fragrant with the orient's balm, 

From the low jasmine to the star-like palm, 

Hail her as mistress o'er the distant waves, 

And yield their tribute to her wandering slaves 

Wherever, moistening the ungrateful soil, 205 

The tear of suffering tracks the path of toil, 

There, in the anguish of his fevered hours, 

Her gracious finger points to healing flowers; 

Where the lost felon steals away to die, 

Her so'ft hand waves before his closing eye; 210 

Where hunted misery finds his darkest lair, 

The midnight taper shows her kneeling there ! 

Virtue, — the guide that men and nations own ; 
And Law, — the bulwark that protects her throne; 
And Health, — to all its happiest charm that lends; 215 
These and their servants, man's untiring friends ; 
Pour the bright lymph that Heaven itself lets fall, — 
In one fair bumper let us toast them all ! 



22 HOLMES' POEMS 



°VERSES FOR AFTER-DINNER 

I was thinking last night, as I sat in the cars, 
With the charming prospect of cinders and stars, 
Next Thursday is — bless me ! — how hard it will be, 
If that cannibal president calls upon me ! 

There is nothing on earth that he will not devour, 5 
From a tutor in seed to a freshman in flower; 
No sage is too gray, and no youth is too green, 
And you can't be too plump, though you're never too 
lean. 

While others enlarge on the boiled and the roast, 
He serves a raw clergyman up with a toast, 10 

Or catches some doctor, quite tender and young, 
And basely insists on a bit of his tongue. 

Poor victim, prepared for his classical spit, 

With a stuffing of praise, and a basting of wit, 

You may twitch at your collar, and wrinkle your 

brow, 15 

But you're up on your legs, and you're in for it now. 

O think of your friends, — they are waiting to hear 
Those jokes that are thought so remarkably queer; 
And all the Jack Homers of metrical buns 
Are prying and fingering to pick out the puns. 20 



VERSES FOR AFTER-DINNER 23 

Those thoughts which, like chickens, will always thrive 

best 
When reared by the heat of the natural nest, 
Will perish if hatched from their embryo dream 
In the mist and the glow of convivial steam. 

pardon me, then, if I meekly retire, 25 
With a very small flash of ethereal fire ; 

No rubbing will kindle your Lucifer match, 
If the fiz does not follow the primitive scratch. 

Dear friends, who are listening so sweetly the w r hile, 
With your lips double reefed in a snug little smile, — 30 

1 leave you two fables, both drawn from the deep, — 
The shells you can drop, but the pearls you may keep. 



The fish called the Flounder, perhaps you may know, 
Has one side for use and another for show; 
One side for the public, a delicate brown, 35 

And one that is white, which he always keeps down. 

A very young flounder, the flattest of flats, 
(And they're none of them thicker than opera hats,) 
Was speaking more freely than charity taught 
Of a friend and relation that just had been 
caught. 40 



24 HOLMES' POEMS 

" My ! what an exposure ! just see what a sight ! 

I blush for my race, — he is showing his white ! 

Such spinning and wriggling, — why, what does he 

wish ? 
How painfully small to respectable fish !" 

Then said an old °Sculpin — "my freedom excuse, 45 
But you're playing the cobbler with holes in your shoes; 
Your brown side is up, — but just wait till you're tried, 
And you'll find that all flounders are white on one side." 



There's a slice near the Pickerel's pectoral fins 

Where the thorax leaves off and the venter begins ; 50 

Which his brother, survivor of fish-hooks and lines, 

Though fond of his family, never declines. 

He loves his relations; he feels they'll be missed; 

But that one little tit-bit he cannot resist ; 

So your bait may be swallowed, no matter how fast, 55 

For you catch your next fish with a piece of the last. 

And thus, O survivor, whose merciless fate 
Is to take the next hook with the president's bait, 
You are lost while you snatch from the end of his line 
The morsel he rent from this bosom of mine ! 60 



THE DORCHESTER GIANT 25 



°THE DORCHESTER GIANT 

There was a giant in time of old, 

A mighty one was he; 
He had a wife, but she was a scold, 
So he kept her shut in his mammoth fold ; 

And he had children three. 5 

It happened to be an election day, 

And the giants were choosing a king; 
The people were not democrats then, 
They did not talk of the rights of men, 

And all that sort of thing. 10 

Then the giant took his children three 

And fastened them in the pen ; 
The children roared; quoth the giant, "Be still !" 
And °Dorchester Heights and Milton Hill 

Rolled back the sound again. 15 

Then he bought them a pudding stuffed with plums, 

As big as the State-House dome; 
Quoth he, "There's something for you to eat; 
So stop your mouths with your 'lection treat, 

And wait till your dad comes home." 20 

So the giant pulled him a chestnut stout, 
And whittled the boughs away; 



26 HOLMES' POEMS 

The boys and their mother set up a shout, 
Said he, " You're in, and you can't get out, 

Bellow as loud as you may." 25 

Off he went and he growled a tune 

As he strode the fields along; 
Tis said a buffalo fainted away, 
And fell as cold as a lump of clay, 

When he heard the giant's song. 30 

But whether the story's true or not, 

It is not for me to show; 
There's many a thing that's twice as queer 
In somebody's lectures that we hear, 

And those are true, you know. 35 



What are those lone ones doing now, 

The wife and the children sad ? 
O ! they are in a terrible rout, 
Screaming, and throwing their pudding about 

Acting as they were mad. 40 

They flung it over to °Roxbury hill, 

They flung it over the plain, 
And all over Milton and Dorchester too 



MY AUNT 27 

Great lumps of pudding the giants threw ; 

They tumbled as thick as rain. 45 

Giant and mammoth have passed away, 

For ages have floated by ; 
The suet is hard as a marrow bone, 
And every plum is turned to a stone, 

But there the puddings lie. 50 

And if, some pleasant afternoon, 

You'll ask me out to ride, 
The whole of the story I will tell, 
And you shall see where the puddings fell, 

And pay for the punch beside. 55 



MY AUNT 

My aunt ! my dear unmarried aunt ! 

Long years have o'er her flown; 
Yet still she strains the aching clasp 

That binds her virgin zone ; 
I know it hurts her, — though she looks 

As cheerful as she can; 
Her waist is ampler than her life, 

For life is but a span. 

My aunt ! my poor deluded aunt ! 
Her hair is almost gray ; 



28 HOLMES' POEMS 

Why will she train that winter curl 

In such a spring-like way ? 
How can she lay her glasses down, 

And say she reads as well, 
When, through a double convex lens, 15 

She just makes out to spell ? 

Her father, — grandpapa ! forgive 

This erring lip its smiles, — 
Vowed she should make the finest girl 

Within a hundred miles; 20 

He sent her to a stylish school ; 

'Twas in her thirteenth June ; 
And with her, as the rules required, 

"Two towels and a spoon/' 

They braced my aunt against a board, 25 

To make her straight and tall ; 
They laced her up, they starved her down, 

To make her light and small ; 
They pinched her feet, they singed her hair, 

They screwed it up with pins; — 30 

O never mortal suffered more 

In penance for her sins. 

So, when my precious aunt was done, 
My grandsire brought her back ; 



EVENING 29 

(By daylight, lest some rabid youth 35 

Might follow on the track;) 
"Ah!" said my grandsire, as he shook 

Some powder in his pan, 
" What could this lovely creature do 

Against a desperate man !" 4 o 

Alas ! nor chariot, nor barouche, 

Nor bandit cavalcade, 
Tore from the trembling father's arms 

His all-accomplished maid. 
For her how happy had it been ! 45 

And Heaven had spared to me 
To see one sad, ungathered rose 

On my ancestral tree. 



EVENING 

BY A TAILOR 

Day hath put on his jacket, and around 
His burning bosom buttoned it with stars. 
Here will I lay me on the velvet grass, 
That is like padding to earth's meagre ribs 
And hold communion with the things about me. 
Ah me ! how lovely is the golden braid, 



30 HOLMES' POEMS 

That binds the skirt of night's descending robe ! 
The thin leaves, quivering on their silken threads, 
Do make a music like to rustling satin, 
As the light breezes smooth their downy nap. 10 

Ha ? what is this that rises to my touch, 
So like a cushion ? °Can it be a cabbage ? 
It is, it is that deeply injured flower, 
Which boys do flout us with ; — but yet I love thee, 
Thou giant -rose, wrapped in a green surtout. 15 

Doubtless in Eden thou didst blush as bright 
As these, thy puny brethren ; and thy breath 
Sweetened the fragrance of her spicy air; 
But now thou seemest like a bankrupt beau, 
Stripped of his gaudy hues and essences, 20 

And growing portly in his sober garments. 

Is that a swan that rides upon the water ? 

no, it is that other gentle bird, 
Which is the patron of our noble calling. 

1 well remember, in my early years, 25 
When these young hands first closed upon a °goose ; 

I have a scar upon my thimble finger, 

Which chronicles the hour of young ambition. 

My father was a tailor, and his father, 

And my sire's grandsire, all of them were tailors; 30 

They had an ancient goose, — it was an heirloom 



THE HEIGHT OF THE RIDICULOUS 31 

From some remoter tailor of our race. 

It happened I did see it on a time 

When none was near, and I did deal with it, 

And it did burn me, — oh, most fearfully ! 35 

It is a joy to straighten out one's limbs, 
And leap elastic from the level counter, 
Leaving the petty grievances of earth, 
The breaking thread, the din of clashing shears, 
And all the needles that do wound the spirit, 40 

For such a pensive hour of soothing silence. 
Kind Nature, shuffling in her loose undress, 
Lays bare her shady bosom ; — I can feel 
With all around me ; — I can hail the flowers 
That sprig earth's mantle, — and yon quiet bird 45 

That rides the stream, is to me as a brother. 
The vulgar know not all the hidden pockets, 
Where Nature stows away her loveliness. 
But this unnatural posture of the legs 
Cramps my extended calves, and I must go 50 

Where I can coil them jn their wonted fashion. 



THE HEIGHT OF THE RIDICULOUS 

I wrote some lines once on a time 

In wondrous merry mood, 
And thought, as usual, men would say 

They were exceeding good. 



32 HOLMES' POEMS 

They were so queer, so very queer, 5 

I laughed as I would die; 
Albeit, in the general way, 

A sober man am I. 

I called my servant, and he came; 

How kind it was of him, 10 

To mind a slender man like me, 

He of the mighty limb ! 

" These to the printer," I exclaimed, 

And, in my humorous way, 
I added, (as a trifling jest,) 15 

" There'll be the devil to pay." 

He took the paper, and I watched, 

And saw him peep within; 
At the first line he read, his face 

Was all upon 'a grin. 20 

He read the next; the grin grew broad, 

And shot from ear to ear; 
He read the third ; a chuckling noise 

I now began to hear. 

The fourth; he broke into a roar; 25 

The fifth; his waistband split, 
The sixth; he burst five buttons off, 

And tumbled in a fit. 



THE SPECTRE PIG 33 

Ten days and nights, with sleepless eye, 

I watched that wretched man, 30 

And since, I never dare to write 
As funny as I can. 



THE SPECTRE PIG 

A BALLAD 

It was the stalwart butcher man, 

That knit his swarthy brow, 
And said the gentle Pig must die, 

And sealed it with a vow. 

And oh ! it was the gentle Pig 5 

Lay stretched upon the ground, 
And ah ! it was the cruel knife 

His little heart that found. 

They took him then, those wicked men, 

They trailed him all along; 10 

They put a stick between his lips, 
And through his heels a thong ; 

And round and round an oaken beam 

A hempen cord they flung, 
And, like a mighty pendulum, 15 

All solemnly he swung ! 



34 HOLMES' POEMS 

Now say thy prayers, thou sinful man, 

And think what thou hast done, 
And read thy catechism well, 

Thou bloody-minded one; 20 

For if his sprite should walk by night, 

It better were for thee, 
That thou wert mouldering in the ground. 

Or bleaching in the sea. 

It was the savage butcher then, 25 

That made a mock of sin, 
And swore a very wicked oath, 

He did not care a pin. 

It was the butcher's youngest son, — 

His voice was broke with sighs, 30 

And with his pocket handkerchief 
He wiped his little eyes ; 

All young and ignorant was he, 

But innocent and mild, 
And, in his soft simplicity, 35 

Out spoke the tender child ; — 

"0 father, father, list to me; 

The Pig is deadly sick, 
And men have hung him by his heels, 

And fed him with a stick." 40 



THE SPECTRE PIG 35 

It was the bloody butcher then, 

That laughed as he would die, 
Yet did he soothe the sorrowing child, 

And bid him not to cry; — 

" O Nathan, Nathan, what's a Pig, 45 

That thou shouldst weep and wail ? 
Come, bear thee like a butcher's child, 

And thou shalt have his tail !" 

It was the butcher's daughter then, 

So slender and so fair, 50 

That sobbed as if her heart would break, 

And tore her yellow hair; 

And thus she spoke in thrilling tone, — 

Fast fell the tear-drops big ; — 
" Ah ! woe is me ! Alas ! Alas ! 55 

The Pig ! The Pig ! The Pig ! " 

Then did her wicked father's lips 

Make merry with her woe, 
And call her many a naughty name, 

Because she whimpered so. 60 

Ye need not weep, ye gentle ones, 

In vain your tears are shed, 
Ye cannot wash his crimson hand, 

Ye cannot soothe the dead. 



36 HOLMES' POEMS 

The bright sun folded on his breast 65 

His robes of rosy flame, 
And softly over all the west 

The shades of evening came. 

He slept, and troops of murdered Pigs 

Were busy with his dreams ; 70 

Loud rang their wild, unearthly shrieks, 
Wide yawned their mortal seams. 

The clock struck twelve; the Dead hath heard, 

He opened both his eyes, 
And sullenly he shook his tail 75 

To lash the feeding flies. 

One quiver of the hempen cord, — 

One struggle and one bound, — 
With stiffened limb and leaden eye, 

The Pig was on the ground ! 80 

And straight toward the sleeper's house 

His fearful way he wended ; 
And hooting owl, and hovering bat, 

On midnight wing attended. 

Back flew the bolt, up rose the latch, 85 

And open swung the door, 
And little mincing feet w T ere heard 

Pat, pat along the floor. 



THE SPECTRE PIG 37 

Two hoofs upon the sanded floor, 

And two upon the bed; 90 

And they are breathing side by side, 

The living and the dead ! 

" Now wake, now wake, thou butcher man ! 

What makes thy cheek so pale ? 
Take hold ! take hold ! thou dost not fear 95 

To clasp a spectre's tail?" 

Untwisted every winding coil; 

The shuddering wretch took hold, 
All like an icicle it seemed, 

So tapering and so cold. 100 

"Thou com'st with me, thou butcher man!" 

He strives to loose his grasp, 
But faster than the clinging vine, 

Those twining spirals clasp. 

And open, open swung the door, 105 

And, fleeter than the wind, 
The shadowy spectre swept before, 

The butcher trailed behind. 

Fast fled the darkness of the night, 

And morn rose faint and dim; no 

They called full loud, they knocked full long, 

They did not waken him. 



38 HOLMES' POEMS 

Straight, straight toward that oaken beam, 

A trampled pathway ran ; 
A ghastly shape was swinging there, — u 5 

It was the butcher man. 



°THE MEETING OF THE DRYADS 

It was not many centuries since, 

When, gathered on the moonlit green, 

Beneath the Tree of Liberty, 

A ring of weeping sprites was seen. 

The freshman's lamp had long been dim, 5 

The voice of busy day was mute. 
And tortured melody had ceased 

Her fiutterings on the evening flute. 

They met not as they once had met, 

To laugh o'er many a jocund tale; 10 

But every pulse was beating low, 

And every cheek was cold and pale. 

There rose a fair but faded one, 

Who oft had cheered them with her song ; 

She waved a mutilated arm, 15 

And silence held the listening throng. 



THE MEETING OF THE DRYADS 39 

" Sweet friends/' the gentle nymph began, 
"From opening bud to withering leaf, 

One common lot has bound us all, 

In every change of joy and grief. 20 

"While all around has felt decay, 

We rose in ever-living prime, 
With broader shade and fresher green, 

Beneath the crumbling step of Time. 

" When often by our feet has past 25 

Some biped, nature's walking whim, 

Say, have we trimmed one awkward shape, 
Or lopped away one crooked limb ? 

"Go on, fair Science; soon to thee 

Shall Nature yield her idle boast; 30 

Her vulgar fingers formed a tree, 

But thou hast trained it to a post. 

"Go paint the birch's silver rind, 

And quilt the peach with softer down; 

Up with the willow's trailing threads, 35 

Off with the sunflower's radiant crown ! 

"Go, plant the lily on the shore, 

And set the rose among the waves, 
And bid the tropic bud unbind 

Its silken zone in Arctic caves; 40 



40 HOLMES 1 POEMS 

" Bring bellows for the panting winds, 

Hang up a lantern by the moon, 
And give the nightingale a fife, 

And lend the eagle a balloon ! 

"I cannot smile, — the tide of scorn, 45 

That rolled through every bleeding vein, 

Comes kindling fiercer as it flows 
Back to its burning source again. 

" Again in every quivering leaf 

That moment's agony I feel, 50 

When limbs, that spurned the northern blast, 

Shrunk from the sacrilegious steel. 

" A curse upon the wretch who dared 

To crop us with his felon saw ! 
May every fruit his lip shall taste 55 

Lie like a bullet in his maw. 

"In every julep that he drinks, 

May gout, and bile, and headache be; 

And when he strives to calm his pain, 

May colic mingle with his tea. 60 

"May nightshade cluster round his path, 
And thistle shoot, and brambles cling; 

May blistering ivy scorch his veins, 
And dogwood burn, and nettles sting. 



LINES 41 

" On him may never shadow fall, 65 

When fever racks his throbbing brow, 

And his last shilling buy a rope 

To hang him on my highest bough. " 

She spoke; — the morning's herald beam 

Sprang from the bosom of the sea, 70 

And every mangled sprite returned 
In sadness to her wounded tree. 



LINES 

RECITED AT THE BERKSHIRE FESTIVAL 

Come back to your mother, ye children, for shame, 
Who have wandered like truants, for riches or fame ! 
With a smile on her face, and a sprig in her cap, 
She calls you to feast from her bountiful lap. 

Come out from your alleys, your courts, and your lanes, 5 
And breathe, like young eagles, the air of our plains; 
Take a whiff from our fields, and your excellent wives 
Will declare it's all nonsense insuring your lives. 

Come you of the law, who can talk, if you please, 
Till the man in the moon will allow it's a cheese, 10 
And leave "the old lady, that never tells lies," 
To sleep with her handkerchief over her eyes. 



42 HOLMES' POEMS 

Ye healers of men, for a moment decline 
Your feats in the rhubarb and ipecac line ; 
While you shut up your turnpike, your neighbors 
can go 15 

The old roundabout road, to the regions below. 

Your clerk, on whose ears are a couple of pens, 

And whose head is an ant-hill of units and tens; 

°Though Plato denies you, we welcome you still 

As a featherless biped, in spite of your quill. 20 

Poor drudge of the city ! how happy he feels, 

With the burs on his legs, and the grass at his heels ! 

No °dodger behind, his bandannas to share, 

No constable grumbling, "You mustn't walk there !" 

In yonder green meadow, to memory dear, 25 

He slaps a mosquito and brushes a tear; 
The dewdrops hang round him on blossoms and shoots, 
He breathes but one sigh for his youth and his 
boots. 

There stands the old schoolhouse, hard by the old 

church ; 
That tree at its side had the flavor of birch; 30 

O sweet were the days of his juvenile tricks, 
Though the prairie of youth had so many " big 

licks." 



LINES 43 

By the side, of yon river he weeps and he slumps, 
The boots fill with water, as if they were pumps ; 
Till, sated with rapture, he steals to his bed, 35 

With a glow in his heart and a cold in his head. 

Tis past, — he is dreaming, — I see him again; 

The ledger returns as by legerdemain ; 

His neckcloth is damp with an easterly flaw, 

And he holds in his fingers an omnibus straw. 40 

He dreams the chill gust is a blossomy gale, 
That the straw is a rose from his dear native vale; 
And murmurs, unconscious of space and of time, 
"A 1. Extra-super. Ah, isn't it prime !" 

Oh what are the prizes we perish to win 45 

To the first little "shiner" we caught with a pin ! 
No soil upon earth is so dear to our eyes 
As the soil we first stirred in terrestrial pies ! 

Then come from all parties, and parts, to our feast ; 
Though not at the " Astor," we'll give you at least 50 
A bite at an apple, a seat on the grass, 
And the best of old — water — at nothing a glass. 



44 HOLMES' POEMS 



A SONG 

FOR THE CENTENNIAL CELEBRATION OF HARVARD COL- 
LEGE, 1836 

When the Puritans came over, 

Our hills and swamps to clear, 
The woods were full of catamounts, 

And Indians red as deer, 
With tomahawks and scalping-knives, 5 

That make folks' heads look queer; — ■ 
O the ship from England used to bring 

A hundred wigs a year ! 

The crows came cawing through the air, 

To pluck the pilgrims' corn, io 

The bears came snuffing round the door 

Whene'er a babe was born, 
The rattlesnakes were bigger round 

Than the butt of the old ram's horn 
The deacon blew at meeting time 15 

On every " Sabbath" morn. 

But soon they knocked the wigwams down, 

And pine-tree trunk and limb 
Began to sprout among the leaves 

In shape of steeples slim ; 20 



A SONG 45 

And out the little wharves were stretched 

Along the ocean's rim, 
And up the little schoolhouse shot 

To keep the boys in trim. 

And, when at length the College rose, 25 

The sachem cocked his eye 
At every tutor's meager ribs 

Whose coat-tails whistled by; 
But, when the Greek and Hebrew words 

Came tumbling from their jaws, 30 

The copper-colored children all 

Ran screaming to the squaws. 

And who was on the Catalogue 

When college was begun ? 
Two nephews of the President, 35 

And the Professor's son, 
(They turned a little Indian by, 

As brown as any bun :) 
Lord ! how the seniors knocked about 

The freshman class of one ! 40 

They had not then the dainty things 

That commons now afford, 
But succotash and hominy 

Were smoking on the board; 



46 HOLMES' POEMS 

They did not rattle round in gigs, 45 

Or dash in long-tail blues, 
But always on Commencement days 

The tutors blacked their shoes. 

God bless the ancient Puritans ! 

Their lot was hard enough ; 50. 

But honest hearts make iron arms, 

And tender maids are tough; 
So love and faith have formed and fed 

Our true-born Yankee stuff, 
And keep the kernel in the shell 55 

The British found so rough ! 



°THE OLD MAN OF THE SEA 

A NIGHTMARE DREAM BY DAYLIGHT 

Do you know the Old Man of the Sea, of the Sea? 

Have you met with that dreadful old man ? 
If you haven't been caught, you will be, you will be; 

For catch you he must and he can. 

He doesn't hold on by your throat, by your throat, 5 

As of old in the terrible tale ; 
But he grapples you tight by the coat, by the coat, 

Till its buttons and button-holes fail. 



THE OLD MAN OF THE SEA 47 

There's the charm of a snake in his eye, in his eye, 
And a polypus grip in his hands; 10 

You cannot go back, nor get by, nor get by, 
If you look at the spot where he stands. 

0, you're grabbed ! See his claw on your sleeve, on 
your sleeve ! 
It is Sinbad's Old Man of the Sea ! 
You're a Christian, no doubt you believe, you be- 
lieve: 15 
You're a martyr, whatever you be ! 

— Is the breakfast-hour past? They must wait, they 

must wait, 
While the coffee boils sullenly down, 
While the Johnny-cake burns on the grate, on the grate ? 
And the toast is done frightfully brown. 20 

— Yes, your dinner will keep; let it cool, let it cool, 
And Madam may worry and fret, 

And children half-starved go to school, go to school; 
He can't think of sparing you yet. 

— Hark! the bell for the train! "Come along! 

Come along ! 25 

For there isn't a second to lose." 
"All aboard!" (He holds on.) "Fsht! ding-dong! 

Fsht! ding-dong!" — 
You can follow on foot, if you choose. 



48 HOLMES' POEMS 

— There's a maid with a cheek like a peach, like a peach, 
That is waiting for you in the church ; — 30 

But he clings to your side like a leech, like a leech, 
And you leave your lost bride in the lurch. 

— There's a babe in a fit, — hurry quick ! hurry quick ! 
To the doctor's as fast as you can ! 

The baby is off, while you stick, while you stick, 35 
In the grip of the dreadful Old Man. 

— I have looked on the face of the Bore, of the Bore; 
The voice of the Simple I know; 

I have welcomed the Flat at my door, at my door; 
I have sat by the side of the Slow; 40 

I have walked like a lamb by the friend, by the friend, 

That stuck to my skirts like a bur; 
I have borne the stale talk without end, without end, 

Of the sitter whom nothing could stir : 

But my hamstrings grow loose, and I shake, and I 
shake, 45 

At the sight of the dreadful Old Man; 
Yea, I quiver and quake, and I take, and I take, 

To my legs with what vigor I can ! 

O the dreadful Old Man of the Sea, of the Sea ! 

He's come back like the °Wandering Jew ! 50 

He has had his cold claw upon me, upon me, — 

And be sure that he'll have it on you ! 



TO AN INSECT 49 



TO AN INSECT 

I love to hear thine earnest voice. 

Wherever thou art hid, 
Thou testy little dogmatist, 

Thou pretty Katydid ! 
Thou mindest me of gentlefolks, — 5 

Old gentlefolks are they, — 
Thou say'st an undisputed thing 

In such a solemn way. 

Thou art a female, Katydid ! 

I know it by the trill 10 

That quivers through thy piercing notes, 

So petulant and shrill. 
I think there is a knot of you 

Beneath the hollow tree, — 
A knot of spinster Katydids, — 15 

Do Katydids drink tea ? 

tell me where did Katy live, 
And what did Katy do ? 

And was she very fair and young, 

And yet so wicked, too ? 20 

Did Katy love a naughty man, 

Or kiss more cheeks than one ? 

1 warrant Katy did no more 
Than many a Kate has done. 



50 HOLMES* POEMS 

Dear me ! I'll tell you all about 25 

My fuss with little Jane, 
And Ann, with whom I used to walk 

So often down the lane, 
And all that tore their locks of black, 

Or wet their eyes of blue, — 30 

Pray tell me, sweetest Katydid, 

What did poor Katy do ? 

Ah no ! the living oak shall crash, 

That stood for ages still, 
The rock shall rend its mossy base 35 

And thunder down the hill, 
Before the little Katydid 

Shall add one word, to tell 
The mystic story of the maid 

Whose name she knows so well. 40 

Peace to the ever-murmuring race ! 

And when the latest one 
Shall fold in death her feeble wings 

Beneath the autumn sun, 
Then shall she raise her fainting voice 45 

And lift her drooping lid, 
And then the child of future years 

Shall hear what Katy did. 



TO THE PORTRAIT OF A LADY 51 



TO THE PORTRAIT OF a A LADY" 

Well, Miss, I wonder where you live, 

I wonder what's your name, 
I wonder how you came to be 

In such a stylish frame ; 
Perhaps you were a favorite child, . 5 

Perhaps an only one; 
Perhaps your friends were not aware 

You had your portrait done ! 

Yet you must be a harmless soul ; 

I cannot think that Sin 10 

Would care to throw his loaded dice, 

With such a stake to win ; 
I cannot think you would provoke 

The poet's wicked pen, 
Or make young women bite their lips, 15 

Or ruin fine young men. 

Pray, did you ever hear, my love, 

Of boys that go about, 
Who, for a very trifling sum, 

Will snip one's picture out ? 20 

I'm not averse to red and white, 

But all things have their place, 
I think a profile cut in black 

Would suit your style of face ! 



52 HOLMES' POEMS 

I love sweet features; I will own 25 

That I should like myself 
To see my portrait on a wall, 

Or bust upon a shelf ; 
But nature sometimes makes one up 

Of such sad odds and ends, 30 

It really might be quite as well 

Hushed up among one's friends. 

THE COMET 

The Comet ! He is on his way, 

And singing as he flies ; 
The whizzing planets shrink before 

The specter of the skies; 
Ah ! well may regal orbs burn blue, 5 

And satellites turn pale, 
Ten million cubic miles of head, 

Ten billion leagues of tail ! 

On, on by whistling spheres of light, 

He flashes and he flames ; 10 

He turns not to the left nor right, 

He asks them not their names ; 
One spurn from his demoniac heel, — 

Away, away they fly, 
Where darkness might be bottled up 15 

And sold for "°Tyrian dye.'! 



THE COMET 53 

And what would happen to the land, 

And how would look the sea, 
If in the bearded devil's path 

Our earth should chance to be ? 20 

Full hot and high the sea would boil, 

Full red the forests gleam ; 
Methought I saw and heard it all 

In a dyspeptic dream ! 

I saw a tutor take his tube 25 

The Comet's course to spy; 
I heard a scream, the gathered rays 

Had stewed the tutor's eye ; 
I saw a fort, — the soldiers all 

Were armed with goggles green ; 30 

Pop cracked the guns ! whiz flew the balls ! 

Bang went the magazine ! 

I saw a poet dip a scroll 

Each moment in a tub, x 
I read upon the warping back, 35 

"The Dream of Beelzebub"; 
He could not see his verses burn, 

Although his brain was fried, 
And ever and anon he bent 

To wet them as they dried. 40 

I saw the scalding pitch roll down 
The crackling, sweating pines, 



54 HOLMES' POEMS 

And streams of smoke, like water-spouts, 

Burst through the rumbling mines ; 
I asked the firemen why they made 45 

Such noise about the town ; 
They answered not, — but all the while 

The brakes went up and down. 

I saw a roasting pullet sit 

Upon a baking egg; 50 

I saw a cripple scorch his hand 

Extinguishing his leg; 
I saw nine geese upon the wing 

Towards the frozen pole, 
And every mother's gosling fell 55 

Crisped to a crackling coal. 

I saw the ox that browsed the grass 

Writhe in the blistering rays, 
The herbage in his shrinking jaws 

Was all a fiery blaze; 60 

I saw huge fishes, boiled to rags, 

Bob through the bubbling brine ; 
And thoughts of supper crossed my soul ; 

I had been rash at mine. 

Strange sights ! strange sounds ! fearful dream ! 65 
Its memory haunts me still, 



PARSON TU HELL'S LEGACY 55 

The steaming sea, the crimson glare, 

That wreathed each wooded hill ; 
Stranger ! if through thy reeling brain 

Such midnight visions sweep, 70 

Spare, spare, O spare thine evening meal 

And sweet shall be thy sleep ! 



°P ARSON TURELL'S LEGACY: 

OR, THE PRESIDENT'S OLD ARM-CHAIR 

Facts respecting an old arm-chair. 
At Cambridge. — Is kept in the College there. 
Seems but little the worse for wear. 
That's remarkable when I say 

It was old in °President Holyoke's day. 5 

(One of his boys, perhaps you know, 
Died, at one hundred, years ago.) 
He took lodgings for rain or shine 
Under green bed-clothes in '69. 

Know old Cambridge ? Hope you do. — 10 

Born there? Don't say so ! I was too. 
°(Born in a house with a gambrel-roof, — 
Standing still, if you must have proof. — v 
"Gambrel? — Gambrel?" — Let me beg 
You'll look at a horse's hinder leg, — ■ I5 



56 HOLMES' POEMS 

First great angle above the hoof, — 
That's the gambrel; hence gambrel-roof.) 

— Nicest place that ever was seen, — 
Colleges red and Common green, 

Sidewalks brownish with trees between. 20 

Sweetest spot beneath the skies 

When the canker-worms don't rise, — 

When the dust, that sometimes flies 

Into your mouth and ears and eyes, 

In a quiet slumber lies, 25 

Not in the shape of unbaked pies, 

Such as barefoot children prize. 

A kind of harbor it seems to be, 
Facing the flow of a boundless sea, 
Rows of gray old Tutors stand 30 

Ranged like rocks above the sand; 
Rolling beneath them, soft and green, 
Breaks the tide of bright sixteen, — 
One wave, two waves, three waves, four, — 
Sliding up the sparkling floor; , 35 

Then it ebbs to flow no more, 
Wandering off from shore to shore 
With its freight of golden ore ! 

— Pleasant place for boys to play; — 

Better keep your girls away, 40 

Hearts get rolled as pebbles do 

Wliich countless fingering waves pursue, 



PARSON TURELlJS LEGACY 57 

And every classic beach is strown 

With heart-shaped pebbles of blood-red stone. 

But this is neither here nor there ; 45 

I'm talking about an old arm-chair. 
You've heard, no doubt, of Parson Turell ? 
Over at °Medf ord he used to dwell ; 
Married one of the Mathers' folk; 

Got with his wife a chair of oak, 50 

Funny old chair, with seat like wedge, 
Sharp behind and broad front edge, — 
One of the oddest of human things, 
Turned all over with knobs and rings, — 
But heavy, and wide, and deep, and grand, — 55 

Fit for the worthies of the land,- — 
°Chief Justice Sewall a cause to try in, 
Or °Cotton Mather to sit — and lie — in. 
Parson Turell bequeathed the same 
To a certain student, Smith, by name; 60 

These were the terms, as w T e are told : 
"Saide Smith saide Chaire to have and holde; 
When he doth graduate, then to passe 
To ye oldest Youth in ye Senior Classe. 
On Payment of" — (naming a certain sum) — 65 

"By him to whom ye Chaire shall come; 
He to ye oldest Senior next, 
And soe forever" — (thus runs the text) — ■ 
"But one Crown lesse than he gave to claime, 
That being his debte for use of same." 70 



58 HOLMES' POEMS 

Smith transferred it to one of the Browns, 

And took his money, — five silver crowns. 

Brown delivered it up to Moore, 

Who paid, it is plain, not five, but four. 

Moore made over the chair to Lee, 75 

Who gave him crowns of silver three. 

Lee conveyed it unto Drew, 

And now the payment, of course, was two. 

Drew gave up the chair to Dunn, — 

All he got, as you see, was one. 80 

Dunn released the chair to Hall, 

And got by the bargain no crown at all. 

And now it passed to a second Brown, 

Who took it and likewise claimed a crown. 

When Brown conveyed it unto Ware, 85 

Having had one crown to make it fair, 

He paid him two crowns to take the chair. 

And Ware, being honest (as all Wares be), 

He paid one Potter, who took it, three. 

Four got Robinson ; five got Dix; 90 

Johnson primus demanded six; 

And so the sum kept gathering still 

Till after the battle of Bunker's Hill. 

— When paper money became so cheap, 
Folks wouldn't count it, but said "a heap," 95 

A certain Richards, — the books declare, — 
(A. M. in '90? I've looked with care 
Through the Triennial, — name not there,) — 



PARSON TURELL'S LEGACY 59 

This person, Richards, was offered then 

Eightscore pounds, but would have ten; ioo 

Nine, I think, was the sum he took, — 

Not quite certain, — but see the book. 

— By and by the wars were still, 

But nothing had altered the Parson's will. 

The old arm-chair was solid yet, 105 

But saddled with such a monstrous debt ! 

Things grew quite too bad to bear, 

Paying such sums to get rid of the chair ! 

But dead men's fingers hold awful tight, 

And there was the will in black and white, no 

Plain enough for a child to spell. 

What should be done no man could tell, 

For the chair was a kind of nightmare curse, 

And every season but made it worse. 

As a last resort, to clear the doubt, 115 

They got old °Governor Hancock out. 
The Governor came with his Light-horse Troop 
And his mounted truckmen, all cock-a-hoop; 
Halberds glittered and colors flew, 
French horns whinnied and trumpets blew, 120 

The yellow fifes whistled between their teeth, 
And the bumble-bee bass-drums boomed beneath; 
So he rode with all his band, 
Till the President met him, cap in hand. 
— The Governor " hefted " the crowns, and said r — 125 
"A will is a will, and the Parson's dead." 



60 HOLMES' POEMS 

The Governor hefted the crowns. Said he, — 

" There is your p'int. And here's my fee. 

These are the terms you must fulfil, — 

On such conditions I break the will !" 130 

The Governor mentioned what these should be. 

(Just wait a minute and then you'll see.) 

The President prayed. Then all was still, 

And the Governor rose and broke the will ! — 

" About those conditions?" Well, now you go 135 

And do as I tell you, and then you'll know. 

Once a year, on Commencement-day, 

If you'll only take the pains to stay, 

You'll see the President in the Chair, 

Likewise the Governor sitting there. 140 

The President rises ; both old and young 

May hear his speech in a foreign tongue, 

The meaning whereof, as lawyers swear, 

Is this : Can I keep this old arm-chair ? 

And then his Excellency bows, 145 

As much as to say that he allows. 

The °Vice-Gub. next is called by name; 

He bow T s like t'other, which means the same. 

And all the officers round 'em bow, • 

As much as to say that they allow. 150 

And a lot of parchments about the chair 

Are handed to witnesses then and there, 

And then the lawyers hold it clear 

That the chair is safe for another year. 



THE MUSIC-GRINDERS 61 

God bless you, gentlemen ! Learn to give 155 

Money to colleges while you live. 
Don't be silly and think you'll try 
To bother the colleges, when you die, 
With °codicil this, and codicil that, 
That Knowledge may starve while Law grows fat ; 160 
For there never was pitcher that wouldn't spill, 
And there's always a flaw in a donkey's will ! 

THE MUSIC-GRINDERS 

There are three ways in w T hich men take 

One's money from his purse, 
And very hard it is to tell 

Which of the three is worse; 
But all of them are bad enough 5 

To make a body curse. 

You're riding out some pleasant day, 

And counting up your gains ; 
A fellow jumps from out a bush, 

And takes your horse's reins, 10 

Another hints some words about 

A bullet in your brains. 

It's hard to meet such pressing friends 

In such a lonely spot ; 
It's very hard to lose your cash, 15 

But harder to be shot; 



62 HOLMES' POEMS 

And so you take your wallet out, 
Though you would rather not. 

Perhaps you're going out to dine, — 

Some odious creature begs 20 

You'll hear about the cannon-ball 

That carried off his pegs, 
And says it is a dreadful thing 

For men to lose their legs. 

He tells you of his starving wife, 25 

His children to be fed, 
Poor little, lovely innocents, 

All clamorous for bread, — 
And so you kindly help to put 

A bachelor to bed. 30 

You're sitting on your window-seat, 

Beneath a cloudless moon; 
You hear a sound, that seems to wear 

The semblance of a tune, 
As if a broken fife should strive 35 

To drown a cracked bassoon. 

And nearer, nearer still, the tide 

Of music seems to come, 
There's something like a human voice, 

And something like a drum ; 40 



THE MUSIC-GRINDERS 63 

You sit in speechless agony, 
Until your ear is numb. 

Poor "home, sweet home" should seem to be 

A very dismal place ; 
Your "auld acquaintance" all at once 45 

Is altered in the face; 
Their discords sting through °Burns and Moore, 

Like hedgehogs dressed in lace. 

You think they are crusaders, sent 

From some infernal clime, 50 

To pluck the eyes of Sentiment, 

And dock the tail of Rhyme, 
To crack the voice of Melody, 

And break the legs of Time. 

But hark ! the air again is still, 55 

The music all is ground, 
And silence, like a poultice, comes 

To heal the blows of sound; 
It cannot be, — it is, — it is, — 

A hat is going round ! 60 

No ! Pay the dentist when he leaves 

A fracture in your jaw, 
And pay the owner of the bear, 

That stunned you with his paw, 



64 HOLMES 1 POEMS 

And buy the lobster that has had 65 

Your knuckles in his claw; 

But if you are a portly man, 

Put on your fiercest frown, 
And talk about a constable 

To turn them out of town ; 70 

Then close your sentence with an oath, 

And shut the window down ! 

And if you are a slender man, 

Not big enough for that, 
Or, if you cannot make a speech, 75 

Because you are a flat, 
Go very quietly and drop 

A button in the hat ! 



CLASS OF >29 

You'll believe me, dear boys, 'tis a pleasure to rise 
With a welcome like this in your darling old eyes, 
To meet the same smiles and to hear the same tone 
Which have greeted me oft in the years that have flown. 

Were I gray as the grayest old rat in the wall, 5 

My locks would turn brown at the sight of you all ; 
If my heart were as dry as the shell on the sand, 
It would fill like the goblet I hold in my hand. 



CLASS OF '29 65 

There are noontides of autumn, when summer returns, 
Though the leaves are all garnered and sealed in their 
urns, 10 

And the bird on his perch that was silent so long 
Believes the sweet sunshine and breaks into song. 

We have caged the young birds of our beautiful June; 
Their plumes are still bright and their voices in tune; 
One moment of sunshine from faces like these, 15 
And they sing as they sung in the green-growing trees. 

The voices of morning ! how sweet is their thrill 
When the shadows have turned, and the evening grown 

still ! 
The text of our lives may get wiser with age, 
But the print was so fair on its twentieth page ! 20 

Look off from your goblet and up from your plate, 
Come, take the last journal, and glance at its date, — 
Then think what we fellows should say and should 

do, 
If the 6 were a 9, and the 5 were a 2. 

Ah, no ! for the shapes that would meet with us here 25 
From the far land of shadows are ever too dear ! 
Though youth flung around us its pride and its charms, 
We should see but the comrades we clasped in our 
arms. 



66 HOLMES' POEMS 

A health to our future, — a sigh for our past ! 
We love, we remember, we hope to the last: 30 

And for all the base lies that the almanacs hold, 
While we've youth in our hearts, we can never grow old. 



"THE BOYS" 

Has there any old fellow got mixed with the boys ? 
If there has, take him out, without making a noise. 
Hang the Almanac's cheat and the Catalogue's spite ! 
Old Time is a liar ! We're twenty to-night ! 

We're twenty ! We're twenty ! Who says we are 
more ? 5 

He's tipsy, — young jackanapes ! — show him the door! 

" Gray temples at twenty ? " — Yes ! white if we please ; 

Where the snow-flakes fall thickest there's nothing can 
freeze ! 

Was it snowing I spoke of ? Excuse the mistake ! 
Look close, — you will see not a sign of a flake ! 10 

We want some new garlands for those we have shed, — 
And these are white roses in place of the red. 

We've a trick, we young fellows, you may have been 

told, 
Of talking (in public) as if we were old : — 



" THE BOYS" 67 

°That boy we call "Doctor," and this we call 
"Judge"; is 

It's a neat little fiction, — of course it's all fudge. 

That fellow's the "Speaker," — the one on the right; 

"Mr. Mayor," my young one, how are you to- 
night ? 

That's our "Member of Congress," we say when we 
chaff; 

There's the "Reverend" What's his name? — don't 
make me laugh. 20 

That boy with the grave mathematical look 
Made believe he had written a wonderful book, 
And the °Royal Society thought it was true! 
So they chose him right in, — a good joke it was, 
too ! 

There's a boy, we pretend, with a three-decker brain, 25 
That could harness a team with a logical chain; 
When he spoke for our manhood in syllabled fire, 
We called him "The Justice," but now he's "The 
Squire." 

And there's a nice youngster of excellent pith, — 
Fate tried to conceal him by naming him Smith; 30 
But he shouted a song for the brave and the free, — 
Just read on his medal, "My Country," "of thee!" 



68 HOLMES' POEMS 

You hear that boy laughing? — You think he's all fun; 
But the angels laugh, too, at the good he has done; 
The children laugh loud as they troop to his call, 35 
And the poor man that knows him laughs loudest of all ! 

Yes, we're boys, — always playing w T ith tongue or 

with pen; 
And I sometimes have asked, Shall we ever be men ? 
Shall w T e always be youthful, and laughing, and gay, 
Till the last dear companion drops smiling away? 40 

Then here's to our boyhood, its gold and its gray ! 
The stars of its winter, the dews of its May ! 
And when we have done with our life-lasting toys, 
Dear Father, take care of thy children, the Boys ! 



THE OLD MAN DREAMS 

O for one hour of }^outhful joy ! 

Give back my twentieth spring ! 
I'd rather laugh a bright-haired boy 

Than reign a gray-beard king ! 

Off with the spoils of wrinkled age ! 

Away with learning's crown ! 
Tear out life's wisdom-written page, 

And dash its trophies down ! 



THE OLD MAN BREAMS 69 

One moment let my life-blood stream 

From boyhood's fount of flame ! 10 

Give me one giddy, reeling dream 

Of life all love and fame ! 

— My listening angel heard the prayer, 

And, calmly smiling, said, 
"If I but touch thy silvered hair, 15 

Thy hasty wish hath sped. 

"But is there nothing in thy track, 

To bid thee fondly stay, 
While the swift seasons hurry back 

To find the wished-for day?" 20 

— Ah, truest soul of womankind ! 

Without thee, what were life ? 
One bliss I cannot leave behind : 

I'll take — my — precious — wife! 

— The angel took a sapphire pen 25 

And wrote in rainbow dew, 
"The man would be a boy again, 

And be a husband too !" 

"And is there nothing yet unsaid — 

Before the change appears ? 30 

Remember, all their gifts have fled 

With those dissolving years." 



70 HOLMES' POEMS 

Why yes ; for memory would recall 

My fond paternal joys; 
I could not bear to leave them all — 35 

I'll take — my — girl — and — boys. 

The smiling angel dropped his pen, — 

" Why this will never do; 
The man would be a boy again, 

And be a father too ! " 40 

And so I laughed, — my laughter woke 

The household with its noise, — 
And wrote my dream, when morning broke, 

To please the gray-haired boys. 



°THE SWEET LITTLE MAN 

DEDICATED TO THE STAY-AT-HOME RANGERS 

Now, while our soldiers are fighting our battles, 

Each at his post to do all that he can, 
Down among rebels and contraband chattels, 

What are you doing, my sweet little man ? 

All the brave boys under canvas are sleeping, 5 

All of them pressing to march with the van, 

Far from the home where their sweethearts are weeping; 
What are you waiting for, sweet little man ? 



THE SWEET LITTLE MAN 71 

You with the terrible warlike mustaches, 

Fit for a colonel or chief of a clan, 10 

You with the waist made for sword-belts and sashes, 

Where are your shoulder-straps, sweet little man ? 

Bring him the buttonless garment of woman ! 

Cover his face lest it freckle and tan; 
Muster the Apron-string Guards on the Common, 15 

That is the corps for the sweet little man ! 

Give him for escort a file of young misses, 
Each of them armed with a deadly rattan; 

They shall defend him from laughter and hisses, 

Aimed by low boys at the sweet little man. 20 

All the fair maidens about him shall cluster, 

Pluck the white feathers from bonnet and fan, 

Make him a plume like a turkey- wing duster, — 
That is the crest for the sweet little man ! 

O, but the Apron-string Guards are the fellows ! 25 
Drilling each day since our troubles began, — 

" Handle your walking-sticks ! " " Shoulder umbrellas ! " 
That is the style for the sweet little man. 

Have we a nation to save ? In the first place 

Saving ourselves is the sensible plan, — 30 

Surely the spot where there's shooting's the worst place 
Where I can stand, says the sweet little man. 



72 HOLMES' POEMS 

Catch me confiding my person with strangers ! 

Think how the cowardly Bull-Runners ran ! 
In the brigade of the Stay-at-home Rangers 35 

Marches my corps, says the sweet little man. 

Such was the stuff of the °Malakoff-takers, 

Such were °the soldiers that scaled the Redan ; 

Truculent housemaids and bloodthirsty Quakers, 

Brave not the wrath of the sweet little man ! 4 o 

Yield him the sidewalk, ye nursery maidens ! 

°Sauve qui peutf Bridget, and right about ! Ann; — 
Fierce as a shark in a school of menhadens, 

See him advancing, the sweet little man ! 

When the red flails of the battle-field's threshers 45 

Beat out the continent's wheat from its bran, 

While the wind scatters the chaffy seceshers, 
W T hat will become of our sweet little man ? 

When the brown soldiers come back from the borders, 
How will he look while his features they scan ? 50 

How will he feel when he gets marching orders, 
Signed by his lady love ? sweet little man ! 

Fear not for him, though the rebels expect him, — 

Life is too precious to shorten its span ; 
Woman her broomstick shall raise to protect him, 55 

Will she not fight for the sweet little man ! 



NUX POSTCCENATICA 73 

Now then, nine cheers for the Stay-at-home Ranger ! 

Blow the great fish-horn and beat the big pan ! 
First in the field that is farthest from danger, 

Take your white-feather plume, sweet little man ! 60 



°NUX POSTCCENATTCA 

I was sitting with my microscope, upon my parlor rug, 
With a very heavy quarto and a very lively bug; 
The true bug had been organized with only two antennse, 
But the humbug in the copper plate would have them 
twice as many. 

And I thought, like °Dr. Faustus, of the emptiness of 

art, 5 

How we take a fragment for the whole, and call the 

whole a part, 
When I heard a heavy footstep that was loud enough 

for two, 
And a man of forty entered, exclaiming, — " How d'ye 

do?" 

He was not a ghost, my visitor, but solid flesh and bone; 
He wore a Palo Alto hat, his weight was twenty stone; 10 
(It's odd how hats expand their brims as riper years 

invade, 
As if when life had reached its noon, it wanted them for 

shade !) 



74 HOLMES' POEMS 

I lost my focus, — dropped my book, — the bug, who 
was a flea, 

At once exploded, and commenced experiments on me. 

They have a certain heartiness that frequently ap- 
palls, — i 5 

Those mediaeval gentlemen in semilunar smalls ! 

"My boy," he said — (colloquial ways — the vast, 

broad-hatted man,) 
"Come dine with us on Thursday next, — you must, 

you know you can ; 
We're going to have a roaring time, with lots of fun 

and noise, 
Distinguished guests, et cetera, °the Judge, and all 

the boys." 20 

Not so, — I said, — my temporal bones are showing 

pretty clear 
It's time to stop, — just look and see that hair above 

this ear; 
My golden days are more than spent, — and, what is 

very strange, 
If these are real silver hairs, I'm getting lots of change. 

Besides — my prospects — don't you know thai people 
won't employ 25 

A man that wrongs his manliness by laughing like a boy ? 
And suspect the azure blossom that unfolds upon a shoot, 
As if wisdom's old potato could not flourish at its root ! 



NUX POSTCCENATICA 75 

It's a very fine reflection, when you're etching out a 

smile 
On a copper plate of faces that would stretch at least a 

mile, 30 

That, what with sneers from enemies, and cheapening 

shrugs of friends, 
It will cost you all the earnings that a month of labor 

lends ! 

It's a vastly pleasing prospect, when you're screwing 

out a laugh, 
That your very next year's income is diminished by 

a half, 
And a little boy trips barefoot that °Pegasus may go, 35 
And the baby's milk is watered that your °Helicon may 

flow! 

No; — the joke has been a good one, — but I'm getting 

fond of quiet, 
And I don't like deviations from my customary diet; 
So I think I will not go with you to hear the toasts and 

speeches, 
But stick to old °Montgomery Place, and have some 

pig and peaches. 40 

The fat man answered : — Shut your mouth, and hear 

the genuine creed; 
The true essentials of a feast are only fun and feed; 



76 HOLMES' POEMS 

The force that wheels the planets round delights in 

spinning tops, 
And that young earthquake t'other day was great at 

shaking props. 

I tell you what, philosopher, if all the longest heads 45 
That ever knocked their sinciputs in stretching on their 

beds 
Were round one great mahogany, I'd beat those fine 

old folks 
With twenty dishes, twenty fools, and twenty clever 

jokes ! 

Why, if Columbus should be there, the company would 
beg 

He'd show that little trick of his of balancing the 
egg ! 50 

Milton to °Stilton would give in, and Solomon to 
Salmon, 

And °Roger Bacon be a bore, and Francis Bacon gam- 
mon ! 

And as for all the "patronage" of all the clowns and 

boors 
That squint their little narrow eyes at any freak of 

yours, 
Do leave them to your prosier friends, — such fellows 

ought to die 55 

When rhubarb is so very scarce and ipecac so high ! 



NUX POSTCCENATICA 11 

°And so I come, — like Lochinvar, to tread a single 

measure, 
To purchase with a loaf of bread a sugar-plum of 

pleasure, 
To enter for the cup of glass that's run for after dinner, 
Which yields a single sparkling draught, then breaks 

and cuts the winner. 60 

Ah, that's the way delusion comes, — a glass of old 
°Madeira, 

A pair of visual diaphragms revolved by Jane or Sarah, 

And down go vows and promises without the slightest 
question 

If eating words won't compromise the organs of diges- 
tion ! 

And yet, among my native shades, beside my nursing 
mother, 65 

Where every stranger seems a friend, and every friend 
a brother, 

I feel the old convivial glow (unaided) o'er me stealing, 

The warm, champagny, old-particular, brandy-punchy 
feeling. 

We're all alike; — °Vesuvius flings the scorise from his 

fountain, 
But down they come in volleying rain back to the 

burning mountain; v 70 



78 HOLMES' POEMS 

We leave, like those volcanic stones, our precious Alma 

Mater, 
But will keep dropping in again to see the dear old crater. 



ON LENDING A PUNCH-BOWL 

This ancient silver bowl of mine, — it tells of good old 

times, 
Of joyous days, and jolly nights, and merry Christmas 

chimes ; 
They were a free and jovial race, but honest, brave, and 

true, 
That dipped their ladle in the punch when this old bowl 

was new. 

A Spanish galleon brought the bar, — so runs the an- 
cient tale; i 5 

'Twas hammered by an °Antwerp smith, whose arm 
was like a flail ; 

And now and then between the strokes, for fear his 
strength should fail, 

He wiped his brow, and quaffed a cup of good old 
°Flemish ale. 

; Twas purchased by an English squire to please his 

loving dame, 
Who saw the cherubs, and conceived a longing for the 

same; 10 



ON LENDING A PUNCH-BOWL 79 

And oft, as on the ancient stock another twig was 

found, 
'Twas filled with caudle spiced and hot, and handed 

smoking round. 

But, changing hands, it reached at length a Puritan 

divine, 
°Who used to follow Timothy, and take a little wine, 
But hated punch and prelacy; and so it was, perhaps, 15 
He went to °Leyden, where he found conventicles and 
• schnaps. 

And then, of course, you know what's next, — it left 

the Dutchman's shore 
With those that in the Mayflower came, — a hundred 

souls and more, — 
Along with all the furniture, to fill their new abodes, — 
To judge by what is still on hand, at least a hundred 

loads. 20 

'Twas on a dreary winter's eve, the night was closing 

dim, 
When old °Miles Standish took the bowl, and filled it 

to the brim ; 
The little Captain stood and stirred the posset with his 

sword, 
And all his sturdy men at arms were ranged about the 

board. 



80 • HOLMES' POEMS 

He poured the fiery °Hollands in, — the man that 

never feared, — 25 

He took a long and solemn draught, and wiped his 

yellow beard ; 
And one by one the musketeers, — the men that 

fought and prayed, — 
All drank as 'twere their mother's milk, and not a man 

afraid. 



That night, affrighted from his nest, the screaming 

eagle flew, 
He heard the °Pequot's ringing whoop, the soldier's 

wild halloo ; 30 

And there the sachem learned the rule he taught to 

kith and kin, 
"Run from the white man when you find he smells of 

Hollands gin I" 



A hundred years, and fifty more, had spread their 

leaves and snows, 
A thousand rubs had flattened down each little cherub's 

nose ; 
When once again the bowl was filled, but not in mirth 

or joy, 35 

Twas mingled by a mother's hand to cheer her parting 

boy. 



ON LENDING A PUNCH-BOWL 81 

Drink, John, she said, 'twill do you good, — poor child, 

you'll never bear 
This working in the dismal trench, out in the midnight 

air; 
And if, — God bless me, — you were hurt, 'twould 

keep away the chill ; 
So John did drink, — and well he wrought that night 

at Bunker's Hill ! 40 

I tell you, there was generous warmth in good old 

English cheer; 
I tell you, 'twas a pleasant thought to bring its symbol 

here. 
'Tis but the fool that loves excess; — hast thou a 

drunken soul ? 
Thy bane is in thy shallow skull, not in my silver bowl ! 

I love the memory of the past, — its pressed yet fra- 
grant flowers, — 45 

The moss that clothes its broken walls, — the ivy on 
its towers, — 

Nay, this poor bauble it bequeathed, — my eyes grow 
moist and dim, 

To think of all the vanished joys that danced around its 
brim. 

Then fill a fair and honest cup, and bear it straight to me; 
The goblet hallows all it holds, whate'er the liquid be ; 50 



82 HOLMES' POEMS 

And may the cherubs on its face protect me from the sin, 
That dooms one to those dreadful words, — "My dear, 
where have you been?" 



REFLECTIONS OF A PROUD PEDESTRIAN 

I saw the curl of his waving lash, 

And the glance of his knowing eye, 
And I knew that he thought he was cutting a dash, 

As his steed went thundering by. 

And he may ride in the rattling gig, s 

Or flourish the Stanhope gay, 
And dream that he looks exceeding big 

To the people that walk in the way; 

But he shall think, when the night is still, 

On the stable-boy's gathering numbers, 10 

And the ghost of many a veteran bill 
Shall hover around his slumbers ; 

The ghastly dun shall worry his sleep, 

And constables cluster around him, 
And he shall creep from the wood-hole deep 15 

Where their spectre eyes have found him ! 

Ay ! gather your reins, and crack your thong, 
And bid your steed go faster; 



THE TREADMILL SONG 83 

He does not know, as he scrambles along, 

That he has a fool for his master; 20 

And hurry away on your lonely ride, 

Nor deign from the mire to save me ; 
I will paddle it stoutly at your side 

With the tandem that nature gave me. 



THE TREADMILL SONG 

The stars are rolling in the sky, 

The earth rolls on below, 
And we can feel the rattling wheel 

Revolving as we go. 
Then tread away, my gallant boys, 5 

And make the axle fly ; 
Why should not wheels go round about, 

Like planets in the sky ? 

Wake up, wake up, my duck-legged man, 

And stir your solid pegs ! 10 

Arouse, arouse, my gawky friend, 

And shake your spider legs ; 
What though you're awkward at the trade, 

There's time enough to learn, — 
So lean upon the rail, my lad, 15 

And take another turn. 



84 HOLMES' POEMS 

They've built us up a noble wall, 

To keep the vulgar out : 
We've nothing in the world to do, 

But just to walk about; 20 

So faster, now, you middle men, 

And try to beat the ends, — 
It's pleasant work to ramble round 

Among one's honest friends. 

Here, tread upon the long man's toes, 25 

He shan't be lazy here, — 
And punch the little fellow's ribs, 

And tweak that lubber's ear, — 
He's lost them both, — don't pull his hair, 

Because he wears a scratch, 30 

But poke him in the further eye, 

That isn't in the patch. 

Hark ! fellows, there's the supper-bell, 

And so our work is done ; 
It's pretty sport, — suppose we take 35 

A round or two for fun ! 
If ever they should turn me out, 

When I have better grown, 
Now hang me, but I mean to have 

A treadmill of my own ! 40 



THE OPENING OF THE PIANO 85 



THE OPENING OF THE PIANO 

In the little southern parlor of the house you may 
have seen 

With the gambrel-roof, and the gable looking west- 
ward to the green, 

At the side toward the sunset, with the window on its 
right, 

Stood the London-made piano I am dreaming of to- 
night ! 

Ah me ! how I remember the evening when it came ! 5 
What a cry of eager voices, what a group of cheeks in 

flame, 
When the wondrous box was opened that had come 

from over seas, 
With its smell of mastic-varnish and its flash of ivory 

keys! 

Then the children all grew fretful in the restlessness of 

joy; 
For the boy would push his sister, and the sister crowd 

the boy, . 10 

Till the father asked for quiet in his grave paternal way, 
But the mother hushed the tumult with the words, 

" Now, Mary, play." 



86 HOLMES' POEMS 

For the dear soul knew that music was a very sovereign 
balm ; 

She had sprinkled it over Sorrow and seen its brow 
grow calm, 

In the days of slender harpsichords with tapping tink- 
ling quills, 15 

Or carolling to her spinet with its thin metallic thrills. 

So Mary, the household minstrel, who always loved to 
please, 

Sat down to the new "Clementi," and struck the glit- 
tering keys. 

Hushed were the children's voices, and every eye grew 
dim, 

As, floating from lip and finger, arose the " Vesper 
Hymn." 20 

— Catharine, child of a neighbor, curly and rosy-red, 
(Wedded since, and a widow, — something like ten 

years dead,) 
Hearing a gush of music such as none before, 
Steals from her mother's chamber and peeps at the 

open door. 

Just as the " Jubilate" in threaded whisper dies, 25 
" Open it ! open it, lady ! " the little maiden cries, 
(For she thought 'twas a singing creature caged in a 

box she heard,) 
fl Open it ! open it, lady ! and let me see the bird!" 



THE CHAMBERED NAUTILUS 87 



°THE CHAMBERED NAUTILUS 

This is the ship of pearl, which, poets feign, 

Sails the unshadowed main, — 

The venturous bark that flings, 
On the sweet summer wind its purple wings 
In gulfs enchanted, where the °Siren sings, 5 

And coral reefs lie bare, 
Where the cold sea-maids rise to sun their streaming 
hair. 

Its webs of living gauze no more unfurl ; 

Wrecked is the ship of pearl ! 

And every chambered cell, 10 

Where its dim dreaming life was wont to dwell, 
As the frail tenant shaped his growing shell, 

Before thee lies revealed, — 
Its irised ceiling rent, its sunless crypt unsealed. 

Year after year behold the silent toil 15 

That spread his lustrous coil ; 

Still, as the spiral grew, 
He left the past year's dwelling for the new, 
Stole with soft step its shining archway through, 

Built up its idle door, 20 

Stretched in its last-found home, and knew the old no 
more. 



88 HOLMES' POEMS 

Thanks for the heavenly message brought by thee, 

Child of the wandering sea, 

Cast from her lap forlorn ! 
From thy dead lips a clearer note is born 25 

Than ever °Triton blew from wreathed horn ! 

While on mine ear its rings, 
Through the deep caves of thought I hear a voice that 
sings ; — 

Build thee more stately mansions, O my soul ! 

As the swift seasons roll ! 30 

Leave thy low-vaulted past ! 
Let each new temple, nobler than the last, 
Shut thee from heaven with a dome more vast, 

Till thou at length art free, 
Leaving thine outgrown shell by life's unresting sea ! 35 



UNDER THE VIOLETS 

Her hands are cold; her face is white; 
No more her pulses come and go ; 

Her eyes are shut to life and light; — 
Fold the white vesture, snow on snow, 
And lay her where the violets blow. 

But not beneath a graven stone, 
To plead for tears with alien eyes; 



UNDER THE VIOLETS 89 

A slender cross of wood alone 
Shall say, that here a maiden lies 
In peace beneath the peaceful skies. to 

And gray old trees of hugest limb 

Shall wheel their circling shadows round 

To make the scorching sunlight dim 

That drinks the greenness from the ground, 
And drop their dead leaves on her mound. 15 

When o'er their boughs the squirrels run, 
And through their leaves the robins call, 

And, ripening in the autumn sun, 
The acorns and the chestnuts fall, 
Doubt not that she will heed them all. 20 

For her the morning choir shall sing 
Its matins from the branches high, 

And every minstrel-voice of Spring, 
That trills beneath the April sky, 
Shall greet her with its earliest cry. 25 

When, turning round their dial-track, 
Eastward the lengthening shadows pass, 

Her little mourners, clad in black, 

The crickets, sliding through the grass, 
Shall pipe for her an evening mass. 30 



90 HOLMES' POEMS 

At last the rootlets of the trees 

Shall find the prison where she lies, 

And bear the buried dust they seize 
In leaves and blossoms to the skies. 
So may the soul that warmed it rise ! 35 

If any, born of kindlier blood, 

Should ask, What maiden lies below ? 

Say only this : A tender bud, 

That tried to blossom in the snow, 

Lies withered where the violets blow. 40 



THE CROOKED FOOTPATH 

Ah, here it is ! the sliding rail 

That marks the old remembered spot, - 
The gap that struck our school-boy trail, - 

The crooked path across the lot. 

It left the road by school and church, 
A pencilled shadow, nothing more, 

That parted from the silver-birch 
And ended at the farm-house door. 

No line or compass traced its plan; 

With frequent bends to left or right, 
In aimless, wayward curves it ran, 

But always kept the door in sight. 



THE CROOKED FOOTPATH 91 

The gabled porch, with woodbine green, — 
The broken millstone at the sill, — 

Though many a rood might stretch between, 15 
The truant child could see them still. 

No rocks across the pathway lie, — 
No fallen trunk is o'er it thrown, — 

And yet it winds, we know not why, 

And turns as if for tree or stone. 20 

Perhaps some lover trod the way 

With shaking knees and leaping heart, — 

And so it often runs astray 

With sinuous sweep or sudden start. 

Or one, perchance, with clouded brain 25 

From some unholy banquet reeled, — 

And since our devious steps maintain 
His track across the trodden field. 

Nay, deem not thus, no earthborn will 

Could ever trace a faultless line; 30 

Our truest steps are human still, — 
To walk unswerving were divine ! 

Truants from love, we dream of wrath; 

O, rather let us trust the more ! 
Through all the wanderings of the path, 35 

We still can see our Father's door ! 



92 HOLMES' POEMS 



THE VOICELESS 



We count the broken lyres that rest 

Where the sweet wailing singers slumber, 
But o'er their silent sister's breast 

The wild-flowers who will stoop to number? 
A few can touch the magic string, 5 

And noisy Fame is proud to win them : — 
Alas for those that never sing, 

But die with all their music in them ! 

Nay, grieve not for the dead alone 

Whose song has told their hearts' sad story, — 10 
Weep for the voiceless, who have known 

The cross without the crown of glory ! 
Not where °Leucadian breezes sweep 

O'er Sappho's memory-haunted billow, 
But where the glistening night-dews weep 15 

On nameless sorrow's churchyard pillow. 

hearts that break and give no sign 

Save whitening lip and fading tresses, 
Till Death pours out his cordial wine 

Slow-dropped from Misery's crushing presses, — 20 
If singing breath or echoing chord 

To every hidden pang were given, 
What endless melodies were poured, 

As sad as earth, as sweet as heaven ! 



THE TWO STREAMS 93 



THE TWO STREAMS 



Behold the rocky wall 
That down its sloping sides 
Pours the swift rain-drops, blending, as they fall, 
In rushing river-tides ! 

Yon stream, whose sources run 5 

Turned by a pebble's edge, 
Is °Athabasca, rolling toward the sun 
Through the cleft mountain-ledge. 

The slender rill had strayed, 

But for the slanting stone, 10 

To evening's ocean, with the tangled braid 
Of foam-flecked °Oregon. 

So from the heights of Will 
Life's parting stream descends, 
And, as a moment turns its slender rill, 15 

Each widening torrent bends, — 

From the same cradle's side, 
From the same mother's knee, — 
One to long darkness and the frozen tide, 

One to the Peaceful Sea ! 20 



94 HOLMES' POEMS 



THE PROMISE 

Not charity we ask, 
Nor yet thy gift refuse ; 
Please thy light fancy with the easy task 
Only to look and choose. 

The little-heeded toy 5 

That wins thy treasured gold 
May be the dearest memory, holiest joy, 
Of coming years untold. . 

Heaven rains on every heart, 
But there its showers divide, 10 

The drops of mercy choosing as they part 
The dark or glowing side. 

One kindly deed may turn 
The fountain of thy soul 
To love's sweet day-star, that shall o'er thee burn 15 
Long as its currents roll ! 

The pleasures thou hast planned, — 
Where shall their memory be 
When the white angel w T ith the freezing hand 

Shall sit and watch by thee ? 20 



avis 95 

Living, thou dost not live, 
If mercy's spring run dry; 
What Heaven has lent thee wilt thou freely give, 
Dying, thou shalt not die ! 

He promised even so ! 25 

To thee His lips repeat, — 
Behold, the tears that soothed thy sister's woe 
Have washed thy Master's feet ! 



AVIS 

I may not rightly call thy name, — 

Alas ! thy forehead never knew 
The kiss that happier children claim, 

Nor glistened with baptismal dew. 

Daughter of -want and wrong and woe, 

I saw thee with thy sister-band, 
Snatched from the whirlpool's narrowing flow 

By Mercy's strong yet trembling hand. 

— "Avis !" — With Saxon eye and cheek, 

At once a woman and a child, 
The saint uncrowned I came to seek 

Drew near to greet us, — spoke, and smiled. 



96 HOLMES' POEMS 

God gave that sweet sad smile she wore 
All wrong to shame, all souls to win, — 

A heavenly sunbeam sent before 15 

Her footsteps through a world of sin. 

— " And who is Avis?" — Hear the tale 
The calm- voiced matrons gravely tell, — 

The story known through all the vale 

Where Avis and her sisters dwell. 20 

With the lo&t children running wild, 
Strayed from the hand of human care, 

They find one little refuse child 
Left helpless in its poisoned lair. 

The primal mark is on her face, — 25 

The chattel-stamp, — the pariah-stain 

That follows still her hunted race — 
The curse without the crime of Cain. 

How shall our smooth-turned phrase relate 

The little suffering outcast's ail ? 30 

Not Lazarus at the rich man's gate 

So turned the rose-wreathed revellers pale. 

Ah, veil the living death from sight 

That wounds our beauty-loving eye ! 
The children turn in selfish fright, 35 

The white-lipped nurses hurry by. 



avis 97 

Take her, dread Angel ! Break in love 
This bruised reed and make it thine ! — 

No voice descended from above, 

But Avis answered, "She is mine." 40 

The task that dainty menials spurn 
The fair young girl has made her own ; 

Her heart shall teach, her hand shall learn 
The toils, the duties yet unknown. 

So Love and Death in lingering strife 45 

Stand face to face from day to day, 
Still battling for the spoil of Life 

While the slow seasons creep away. 

Love conquers Death; the prize is won; 

See to her joyous bosom pressed 50 

The dusky daughter of the sun, — 

The bronze against the marble breast ! 

Her task is done; no voice divine 

Has crowned her deeds with saintly fame. 

No eye can see the aureole shine 55 

That rings her brow with heavenly flame. 

Yet what has holy page more sweet, 
Or what had woman's love more fair, 

When Mary clasped her Saviour's feet 

With flowing eyes and streaming hair ? 60 



98 HOLMES' POEMS 

Meek child of sorrow, walk unknown, 

The Angel of that earthy throng, 
And let thine image live alone 

To hallow this unstudied song ! 

°AGNES 

Part First 

the knight 

The tale I tell is gospel true, 

As all the bookmen know, 
And pilgrims who have strayed to view 

The wrecks still left to show. 

The old, old story, — fair, and young, 5 

And fond, — and not too wise, — 
That matrons tell, with sharpened tongue, 

To maids with downcast eyes. 

Ah ! maidens err and matrons warn 

Beneath the coldest sky; 10 

Love lurks amid the tasselled corn 

As in the bearded rye ! 

But who would dream our sober sires 

Had learned the old world's ways, 
And warmed their hearths with lawless fires 15 

In °Shirley's homespun days? 



AGNES 99 

'Tis like some poet's pictured trance 

His idle rhymes recite, — 
This old New-England-born romance 

Of Agnes and the Knight ; 20 

Yet, known to all the country round, 

Their home is standing still, 
Between °Wachuset's lonely mound 

And °Shawmut's threefold hill. 

— One hour we rumble on the rail, 25 

One half-hour guide the rein, 
We reach at last, o'er hill and dale, 

The village on the plain. 

With blackening wall and mossy roof, 

With stained and warping floor, 30 

A stately mansion stands aloof 

And bars its haughty door. 

This lowlier portal may be tried, 

That breaks the gable wall ; 
And lo ! with arches opening wide, 35 

Sir Harry Frankland's hall ! 

Twas in the second George's day 

They sought the forest shade, 
The knotted trunks they cleared away, 

The massive beams they laid, 40 



LOF 



C, 



100 HOLMES' POEMS 

They piled the rock-hewn chimney tall, 

They smoothed the terraced ground, 
They reared the marble-pillared wall 

That fenced the mansion round. 

Far stretched beyond the village bound 45 

The Master's broad domain ; 
With page and valet, horse and hound, 

He kept a goodly train. 

And, all the midland county through, 

The ploughman stopped to gaze 50 

Whene'er his chariot swept in view 

Behind the shining bays, 

With mute obeisance, grave and slow, 

Repaid by nod polite, — 
For such the way with high and low 55 

Till after Concord fight. 

Nor less to courtly circles known 

That graced the three-hilled town 
With far-off splendors of the Throne, 

And glimmerings from the Crown ; 60 

°Wise Phipps, who held the seals of state 

For Shirley over sea ; 
Brave Knowles, whose press-gang moved of late 

°The King Street mob's decree; 



AGNES 101 

And judges grave, and colonels grand, 65 

Fair dames and stately men, 
The mighty people of the land, 

The " World" of there and then. 

Twas strange no °Chloe's " beauteous Form," 

And "Eyes' coelestial Blew," 70 

This °Strephon of the West could warm, 
No Nymph his Heart subdue ! 

Perchance he wooed as gallants use, 

Whom fleeting loves enchain, 
But still unfettered, free to choose, 75 

Would brook no bridle-rein. 

He saw the fairest of the fair, 

But smiled alike on all ; 
No band his roving foot might snare, 

No ring his hand enthrall. 80 

Part Second 
the maiden 

Why seeks the knight that rocky cape 

Beyond the °Bay of Lynn ? 
What chance his wayward course may shape 

To reach its village inn ? 



102 HOLMES' POEMS 

No story tells ; whate'er we guess 85 

The past lies deaf and still, 
But Fate, who rules to blight or bless, 

Can lead us where she will. 

Make way ! Sir Harry's coach and four, 

And liveried grooms that ride ! 90 

The}^ cross the ferry, touch the shore 
On Winnisimmet's side. 

They hear the wash on °Chelsea Beach, — 

The level marsh they pass, 
Where miles on miles the desert reach 95 

Is rough with bitter grass. 

The shining horses foam and pant, 

And now the smells begin 
Of fishy °Swampscot, salt Nahant, 

And leather-scented Lynn. 100 

Next, on their left, the slender spires, 

And glittering vanes, that crown, 
The home of °Salem's frugal sires, 

The old, witch-haunted town. 

So onward, o'er the rugged way 105 

That runs through rocks and sand, 
Showered by the tempest-driven spray, 

From bays on either hand, 



AGNES 103 

That shut between their outstretched arms 

The crews of °Marblehead, no 

The lords of ocean's watery farms, 
Who plough the waves for bread. 

At last the ancient inn appears, 

The spreading elm below, 
Whose flapping sign these fifty years 115 

Has seesawed to and fro. 

How fair the azure fields in sight 

Before the low-browed inn ! 
The tumbling billows fringe with light 

The crescent shore of Lynn ; 120 

Nahant thrusts outward through the waves 

Her arm of yellow sand, 
And breaks the roaring surge that braves 

The gauntlet on her hand ; 

With eddying whirl the waters lock 125 

Yon treeless mound forlorn, 
The sharp-winged sea-fowl's breeding-rock, 

That fronts the Spouting Horn; 

Then free the white-sailed shallops glide, 

And wide the ocean smiles, 130 

Till, shoreward bent, his streams divide 
The two bare °Misery Isles. 



104 HOLMES' POEMS 

The master's silent signal stays 

The wearied cavalcade; 
The coachman reins his smoking bays 7 3 $ 

Beneath the elm-tree's shade. 

A gathering on the village green ! 

The cocked-hats crowd to see, 
On legs in ancient velveteen, 

With buckles at the knee. , 140 

A clustering round the tavern-door 

Of square-toed village boys, 
Still wearing, as their grandsires wore, 

The old-world corduroys ! 

A scampering at the " Fountain " inn, — 145 

A rush of great and small, — 
With hurrying servants' mingled din 

And screaming matron's call ! 

Poor Agnes ! with her work half done 

They caught her unaware ; 150 

As, humbly, like a praying nun, 

She knelt upon the stair; 

Bent o'er the steps, with lowliest mien 

She knelt, but not to pray, — 
Her little hands must keep them clean, 155 

And wash their stains away. 



AGNES 105 

A foot, an ankle, bare and white, 

Her girlish shapes betrayed, — 
" Ha ! Nymphs and Graces ! " spoke the Knight ; 

"Look up, my beauteous Maid !" 160 

She turned, — a reddening rose in bud, 

Its calyx half withdrawn, — 
Her cheek on fire with damasked blood 

Of girlhood's glowing dawn ! 

He searched her features through and through, 165 

As royal lovers look 
On lowly maidens, when they woo 

Without the ring and book. 

"Come hither, Fair one! Here, my Sweet! 

Nay, prithee, look not down ! 170 

Take this to shoe those little feet," — 

He tossed a silver crown. 

A sudden paleness struck her brow, — 

A swifter flush succeeds ; 
It burns her cheek ; it kindles now 175 

Beneath her golden beads. 

She flitted, but the glittering eye 

Still sought the lovely face. 
Who was she ? What, and whence ? and why 
, Doomed to such menial place ? 180 



106 HOLMES' POEMS 

A skipper's daughter, — so they said, — 

Left orphan by the gale 
That cost the fleet of Marblehead 

And °Gloucester thirty sail. 

Ah ! many a lonely home is found 185 

Along the °Essex shore, 
That cheered its goodman outward bound, 

And sees his face no more ! 

"Not so," the matron whispered, — "sure 

No orphan girl is she, — 190 

The Surraige folk are deadly poor 
Since Edward left the sea, 

"And Mary, with her growing brood, 

Has work enough to do 
To find the children clothes and food 195 

With Thomas, John, and Hugh. 

"This girl of Mary's growing tall, — 

(Just turned her sixteenth year,) — 
To earn her bread and help them all, 

Would w T ork as housemaid here." 200 

So Agnes, with her golden beads, 

And naught beside as dower, 
Grew at the wayside with the weeds, 

Herself a garden-flower. . 



AGNES 107 

'Twas strange, 'twas sad, — so fresh, so fair! 205 

Thus Pity's voice began. 
Such grace ! an angeFs shape and air ! 

The half-heard whisper ran. 

For eyes could see in George's time, 

As now in later days, 210 

And lips could shape, in prose and rhyme, 

The honeyed breath of praise. 

No time to woo ! The train must go 

Long ere the sun is down, 
To reach, before the night-winds blow, 215 

The many-steepled town. 

'Tis midnight, — street and square are still; 

Dark roll the whispering waves 
That lap the piers beneath the hill 

Ridged thick with ancient graves. 220 

Ah, gentle sleep ! thy hand will smooth 

The weary couch of pain, 
When all thy poppies fail to soothe 

The lover's throbbing brain ! 

'Tis morn, — the orange-mantled sun 225 

Breaks through the fading gray, 
And long and loud the Castle gun 

Peals o'er the glistening bay. 



108 HOLMES' POEMS 

" Thank God 'tis day ! " With eager eye 

He hails the morning's shine : — 330 

"If art can win, or gold can buy, 
The maiden shall be mine ! " 



Part Third 
the conquest 

"Who saw this hussy when she came? 

What is the wench, and who?" 
They whisper. "Agnes, — is her name? 235 

Pray what has she to do?" 

The housemaids parley at the gate, 

The scullions on the stair, 
And in the footmen's grave debate 

The butler deigns to share. 240 

Black Dinah, stolen when a child, 

And sold on Boston pier, 
Grown up in service, petted, spoiled, 

Speaks in the coachman's ear: 

" What, all this household at his will ? 245 

And all are yet too few ? 
More servants, and more servants still, — 

This pert young madam too !" 



AGNES 109 

" Servant! fine servant!" laughed aloud 

The man of coach and steeds; 250 

" She looks too fair, she steps too proud, 
This girl with golden beads ! 

"I tell you, you may fret and frown, 

And call her what you choose, 
You'll find my Lady in her gown, 255 

Your Mistress in her shoes ! ,; 

Ah, gentle maidens, free from blame, 

God grant you never know 
The little whisper, loud with shame, 

That makes the world your foe ! 260 

Why tell the lordly flatterer's art, 

That won the maiden's ear, — 
The fluttering of the frightened heart, 

The blush, the smile, the tear ? 

Alas ! it were the saddening tale 265 

That every language knows, — 
The wooing wind, the yielding sail, 

The sunbeam and the rose. 

And now the gown of sober stuff 

Has changed to fair brocade, 270 

With broidered hem, and hanging cuff, 

And flower of silken braid; 



110 HOLMES' POEMS 

And clasped around her blanching wrist 

A jewelled bracelet shines, 
Her flowing tresses' massive twist 275 

A glittering net confines; 

And mingling with their truant wave 

A fretted chain is hung; 
But ah ! the gift her mother gave, — 

Its beads are all unstrung ! 280 

Her place is at the master's board, 

Where none disputes her claim ; ■ 
She walks beside the mansion's lord, 

His bride in all but name. 

The busy tongues have ceased to talk, 285 

Or speak in softened tone, 
So gracious in her daily walk 

The angel light has shown. 

No want that kindness may relieve 

Assails her heart in vain, 290 

The lifting of a ragged sleeve 

Will check her palfrey's rein. 

A thoughtful calm, a quiet grace 

In every movement shown, 
Reveal her moulded for the place 295 

She may not call her own. 



AGNES 111 

And, save that on her youthful brow 

There broods a shadowy care, 
No matron sealed with holy vow 

In all the land so fair ! 300 



Part Fourth 
the rescue 

A ship comes foaming up the bay, 

Along the pier she glides; 
Before her furrow melts away, 

A courier mounts and rides. 

" Haste, Haste, post Haste !" the letters bear; 305 

"Sir Harry Frankland, These." 
Sad news to tell the loving pair ! 

The knight must cross the seas. 

" Alas ! we part !" — the lips that spoke 

Lost all their rosy red, 310 

As when a crystal cup is broke, 
And all its wine is shed. 

"Nay, droop not thus, — where'er/' he cried, 

"I go by land or sea, 
My love, my life, my joy, my pride, 315 

Thy place is still by me !" 



112 HOLMES' POEMS 

Through town and city, far and wide, 

Their wandering feet have strayed, 
From °Alpine lake to ocean tide, 

And cold °Sierra's shade. 320 

At length they see the waters gleam 

Amid the fragrant bowers 
Where Lisbon mirrors in the stream 

Her belt of ancient towers. 

Red is the orange on its bough, 325 

To-morrow's sun shall fling 
O'er ^intra's hazel-shaded brow 

The flush of April's wing. 

The streets qre loud with noisy mirth, 

They dance on eveiy green ; 33 o 

The morning's dial marks the birth 

Of proud °Braganza's queen. 

At eve beneath their pictured dome 

The gilded courtiers throng; 
The broad moidores have cheated Rome 335 

Of all her lords of song. 

Ah! Lisbon dreams not of the day — 

Pleased with her painted scenes — 
°When all her towers shall slide away 

As now these canvas screens ! 340 



AGNES 113 

The spring has passed, the summer fled, 

And yet they linger still, 
Though autumn's rustling leaves have spread 

The flank of Cintra's hill. 

The town has learned their Saxon name, 345 

And touched their English gold, 
Nor tale of doubt nor hint of blame 

From over sea is told. 

Three hours the first November dawn 

Has climbed with feeble ray 350 

Through mists like heavy curtains drawn 

Before the darkened day. 

How still the muffled echoes sleep ! 

Hark! hark! a hollow sound, — 
A noise like chariots rumbling deep 355 

Beneath the solid ground. 



s L 



The channel lifts, the water slides 

And bares its bar of sand, 
Anon a mountain billow strides 

And crashes o'er the land. 360 

The turrets lean, the steeples reel 

Like masts on ocean's swell, 
And clash a long discordant peal, 

The death-doomed city's knell. 



114 HOLMES' 1 POEMS 

The pavement bursts, the earth upheaves 365 

Beneath the staggering town ! 
The turrets crack — the castle cleaves — 

The spires come rushing down. 

Around, the lurid mountains glow 

With strange unearthly gleams; 370 

While black abysses gape below, . 

Then close in jagged seams. 

The earth has folded like a wave, 

And thrice a thousand score, 
Clasped, shroudless, in their closing grave, 375 

The sun shall see no more ! 

And all is over. Street and square 

In ruined heaps are piled ; 
Ah ! where is she, so frail, so fair, 

Amid the tumult wild ? 380 

Unscathed, she treads the wreck-piled street, 

Whose narrow gaps afford 
A pathway for her bleeding feet, 

To seek her absent lord. 

A temple's broken walls arrest 385 

Her wild and wandering eyes; 
Beneath its shattered portal pressed, 

Her lord unconscious lies. 



AGNES 115 

The power that living hearts obey 

Shall lifeless blocks withstand ? 390 

Love led her footsteps where he lay, — 

Love nerves her woman's hand : 

One cry, — the marble shaft she grasps, — 

Up heaves the ponderous stone : — 
He breathes, — her fainting form he clasps, — 395 

Her life has bought his own ! 



Part Fifth 
the reward 

How like the starless night of death 

Our being's brief eclipse, 
When faltering heart and failing breath 

Have bleached the fading lips ! 400 

She lives ! What guerdon shall repay 

His debt of ransomed life ? 
One word can charm all wrongs away, — 

The sacred name of Wife ! 

The love that won her girlish charms 405 

Must shield her matron fame, 
And write beneath the Frankland arms 

The village beauty's name. 



116 HOLMES' POEMS 

Go, call the priest ! no vain delay 

Shall dim the sacred ring ! 410 

Who knows what change the passing day, 

The fleeting hour, may bring ? 

Before the holy altar bent, 

There kneels a goodly pair; 
A stately man, of high descent, 415 

A woman, passing fair. 

No jewels lend the blinding sheen 

That meaner beauty needs, 
But on her bosom heaves unseen 

A string of golden beads. 420 

The vow is spoke, — the prayer is said, — 

And with a gentle pride 
The Lady Agnes lifts her head, 

Sir Harry Frankland's bride. 

No more her faithful heart shall bear 435 

Those griefs so meekly borne, — 
The passing sneer, the freezing stare, 

The icy look of scorn ; 

No more the blue-eyed English dames 

Their haughty lips shall curl, 430 

Whene'er a hissing whisper names 

The poor New England girl. 



AGNES 111 

But stay! — his mother's haughty brow, — 

The pride of ancient race, — 
Will plighted faith, and holy vow, 43s 

Win back her fond embrace ? 

Too well she knew the saddening tale 

Of love no vow had blest, 
That turned his blushing honors pale 

And stained his knightly crest. 440 

They seek his Northern home, — alas: 

He goes alone before ; — 
His own dear Agnes may not pass 

The proud, ancestral door. 

He stood before the stately dame; 445 

He spoke ; she calmly heard, 
But not to pity, nor to blame; 

She breathed no single word. 

He told his love, — her faith betrayed; 

She heard with tearless eyes; 450 

Could she forgive the erring maid ? 

She stared in cold surprise. 

How fond her heart, he told, — how true; 

The haughty eyelids fell ; — 
The kindly deeds she loved to do; 455 

She murmured, "It is well." 



118 HOLMES' POEMS 

But when he told that fearful day, 

And how her feet were led 
To where entombed in life he lay, 

The breathing with the dead, 460 

And how she bruised her tender breasts 

Against the crushing stone, 
That still the strong-armed clown protests 

No man can lift alone, — 

then the frozen spring was broke ; 465 
By turns she wept and smiled ; — 

" Sweet Agnes !" so the mother spoke, 
"God bless my angel child ! 

"She saved thee from the jaws of death, — 

'Tis thine to right her wrongs; 470 

1 tell thee, — I, who gave thee breath, — 
To her thy life belongs I" 

Thus Agnes won her noble name, 

Her lawless lover's hand; 
The lowly maiden so became 475 

A lady in the land ! 



AGNES 119 

Part Sixth 
conclusion 

The tale is done; it little needs 

To track their after ways, 
And string again the golden beads 

Of love's uncounted days. 48c 

They leave the fair ancestral isle 

For bleak New England's shore; 
How gracious is the courtly smile 

Of all who frowned before ! 

Again through Lisbon's orange bowers 485 

They watch the river's gleam, 
And shudder as her shadowy towers 

Shake in the trembling stream. 

Fate parts at length the fondest pair; 

His cheek, alas! grows pale; 490 

The breast that trampling death could spare 

His noiseless shafts assail. 

He longs to change the heaven of blue 

For England's clouded sky, — 
To breathe the air his boyhood knew ; 495 

He seeks them but to die. 



120 HOLMES' POEMS 

— Hard by the terraced hillside town, 
Where healing streamlets run, 

Still sparkling with their old renown, — 

The " Waters of the Sun," — 5 oo 

The Lady Agnes raised the stone 

That marks his honored grave, 
And there Sir Harry sleeps alone 

By °Wiltshire Avon's wave. 

The home of early love was dear; 505 

She sought its peaceful shade, 
And kept her state for many a year, 

With none to make afraid. 

At last the evil days were come 

That saw the red cross fall ; 510 

She hears the rebels' rattling drum, — 

Farewell to Frankland Hall ! 

— I tell you, as my tale began, 
The Hall is standing still ; 

And you, kind listener, maid or man, 515 

May see it if you will. 

The box is glistening huge and green, 

Like trees the lilacs grow, 
Three elms high-arching still are seen, 

And one lies stretched below. 520 



AGNES 121 

The hangings, rough with velvet flowers, 

Flap on the latticed wall ; 
And o'er the mossy ridge-pole towers 

The rock-hewn chimney tall. 

The doors on mighty hinges clash 525 

With massive bolt and bar, 
The heavy English-moulded sash 

Scarce can the night-winds jar. 

Behold the chosen room he sought 

Alone, to fast and pray, 53° 

Each year, as chill November brought 

The dismal earthquake day. 

There hung the rapier blade he wore, 

Bent in its flattened sheath; 
The coat the shrieking woman tore 535 

Caught in her clenching teeth; — 

The coat with tarnished silver lace 

She snapped at as she slid, 
And down upon her death-white face 

Crashed the huge coffin's lid. 540 

A graded terrace yet remains; 

If on its turf you stand 
And look along the w T ooded plains 

That stretch on either hand, 



122 HOLMES' POEMS 

The broken forest walls define 545 

A dim, receding view, 
Where, on the far horizon's line, 

He cut his vista through. 

If further story you shall crave, 

Or ask for living proof, 55° 

Go see old Julia, born a slave 

Beneath Sir Harry's roof. 

She told me half that I have told, 

And she remembers well 
The mansion as it looked of old 555 

Before its glories fell; — 

The box, when round the terraced square 

Its glossy wall was drawn; 
The climbing vines, the snow-balls fair, 

The roses on the lawn. 560 

And Julia says, with truthful look 

Stamped on her wrinkled face, 
That in her own black hands she took 

The coat with silver lace. 

And you may hold the story light, 565 

Or, if you like, believe; 
But there it was, the woman's bite, — 

A mouthful from the sleeve. 



THE PLOUGHMAN 123 

Now go your ways; — I need not tell 

The moral of my rhyme ; 570 

But, youths and maidens, ponder well 

This tale of olden time ! 



°THE PLOUGHMAN 

Clear the brown path, to meet his coulter's gleam ! 
Lo ! on he comes, behind his smoking team, 
With toiFs bright dew-drops on his sun-burnt brow, 
The lord of earth, the hero of the plough ! 

First in the field before the reddening sun, 5 

Last in the shadows when the day is done, 

Line after line, along the bursting sod, 

Marks the broad acres where his feet have trod; 

Still, where he treads, the stubborn clods divide, 

The smooth, fresh furrow opens deep and wide ; 10 

Matted and dense the tangled turf upheaves, 

Mellow and dark the ridgy cornfield cleaves ; 

Up the steep hillside, where the laboring train 

Slants the long track that scores the level plain, 

Through the moist valley, clogged with oozing clay, 15 

The patient convoy breaks its destined way; 

At every turn the loosening chains resound, 

The swinging ploughshare circles glistening round, 

Till the wide field one billowy waste appears, 

And wearied hands unbind the panting steers. 20 



124 HOLMES 1 ' POEMS 

These are the hands whose sturdy labor brings 

The peasant's food, the golden pomp of kings: 

This is the page, whose letters shall be seen 

Changed by the sun to words of living green; 

This is the scholar, whose immortal pen 25 

Spells the first lesson hunger taught to men ; 

These are the lines which heaven-commanded Toil 

Shows on his deed, — the charter of the soil ! 

O gracious Mother, whose benignant breast 

Wakes us to life, and lulls us all to rest, 30 

How thy sweet features, kind to every clime, 

Mock with their smile the wrinkled front of time ! 

We stain thy flowers, — they blossom o'er the dead; 

We rend thy bosom, and it gives us bread; 

O'er the red field that trampling strife has torn, 35 

Waves the green plumage of thy tasselled corn ; 

Our maddening conflicts scar thy fairest plain, 

Still thy soft answer is the growing grain. 

Yet, O our Mother, while uncounted charms 

Steal round our hearts in thine embracing arms, 4° 

Let not our virtues in thy love decay, 

And thy fond sweetness waste our strength away. 

No ! by these hills, whose banners now displayed 
In blazing cohorts Autumn has arrayed : 
By yon twin summits, on whose splintery crests 45 

The tossing hemlocks hold the eagles' nests; 



THE LIVING TEMPLE 125 

By these fair plains the mountain circle screens, 
And feeds with streamlets from its dark ravines ; — 
True to their home, these faithful arms shall toil 
To crown with peace their own untainted soil ; 50 

And, true to God, to freedom, to mankind, 
If her chained bandogs Faction shall unbind, 
These stately forms, that bending even now 
Bowed their strong manhood to the humble plough, 
Shall rise erect, the guardians of the land, 55 

The same stern iron in the same right hand, 
Till o'er their hills the shouts of triumph run; 
The sword has rescued what the ploughshare won ! 

THE LIVING TEMPLE 

Not in the world of light alone, 

Where God has built his blazing throne, 

Nor yet alone in earth below, 

With belted seas that come and go, 

And endless isles of sunlit green, 5 

Is all thy Maker's glory seen : 

Look in upon thy wondrous frame, — 

Eternal wisdom still the same ! 

The smooth, soft air with pulse-like waves 
Flows murmuring through its hidden caves, 10 

Whose streams of brightening purple rush, 
Fired with a new and livelier blush, 



126 HOLMES' POEMS 

While all their burden of decay 

The ebbing current steals away, 

And red with Nature's flame they start 15 

From the warm fountains of the heart. 

No rest that throbbing slave may ask, 

Forever quivering o'er his task, 

While far and wide a crimson jet 

Leaps forth to fill the woven net 20 

Which in unnumbered crossing tides 

The flood of burning life divides, 

Then, kindling each decaying part, 

Creeps back to find the throbbing heart. 

But warmed with that unchanging flame 25 

Behold the outward moving frame, 

Its living marbles jointed strong 

With glistening band and silvery thong, 

And linked to reason's guiding reins 

By myriad rings in trembling chains, 30 

Each graven with the threaded zone 

Which claims it as the master's own. 

See how yon beam of seeming white 

Is braided out of seven-hued light, 

Yet in those lucid globes no ray 35 

By any chance shall break astray. 



THE LIVING TEMPLE 127 

Hark how the rolling surge of sound, 

Arches and spirals circling round, 

Wakes the hushed spirit through thine ear 

With music it is heaven to hear. 4 o 

Then mark the cloven sphere that holds 

All thought in its mysterious folds, 

That feels sensation's faintest thrill, 

And flashes forth the sovereign will ; 

Think on the stormy world that dwells 45 

Locked in its dim and clustering cells ! 

The lightning gleams of power it sheds 

Along its hollow glassy threads ! 

O Father ! grant thy love divine 

To make these mystic temples thine ! 50 

When wasting age and wearying strife 

Have sapped the leaning walls of life, 

When darkness gathers over all, 

And the last tottering pillars fall, 

Take the poor dust thy mercy warms, 55 

And mould it into heavenly forms ! 



128 HOLMES' POEMS 

THE ONLY DAUGHTER 
(illustration of a picture) 

They bid me strike the idle strings, 

As if my summer days 
Had shaken sunbeams from their wings, 

To warm my autumn lays ; 
They bring to me their painted urn, 5 

As if it were not time 
To lift my gauntlet and to spurn 

The lists of boyish rhyme : 
And, were it not that I have still 

Some weakness in my heart 10 

That clings around my stronger will 

And pleads for gentler art, 
Perchance I had not turned away 

The thoughts grown tame with toil, 
To cheat this lone and pallid ray, 15 

That wastes the midnight oil. 

Alas ! with every year I feel 

Some roses leave my brow; 
Too young for wisdom's tardy seal, 

Too old for garlands now ; 20 

Yet, while the dewy breath of spring 

Steals o'er the tingling air, 
And spreads and fans each emerald wing 

The forest soon shall wear, 



THE ONLY DAUGHTER 129 

How bright the opening year would seem, 25 

Had I one look like thine. 
To meet me when the morning beam 

Unseals these lids of mine ! 
Too long I bear this lonely lot, 

That bids my heart run wild 30 

To press the lips that love me not, 

To clasp the stranger's child. 

How oft beyond the dashing seas, 

Amidst those royal bowers, 
Where danced the lilacs in the breeze, 35 

And swung the chestnut flowers, 
I wandered like a wearied slave 

Whose morning task is done, 
To watch the little hands that gave 

Their whiteness to the sun ; 40 

To revel in the bright young eyes, 

Whose lustre sparkled through 
The sable fringe of southern skies, 

Or gleamed in Saxon blue ! 
How oft I heard another's name 45 

Called in some truant's tone ; 
Sweet accents ! which I longed to claim 

To learn and lisp my own ! 

Too soon the gentle hands, that pressed 

The ringlets of the child, 50 



130 HOLMES' POEMS 

Are folded on the faithful breast 

Where first he breathed and smiled; 
Too oft the clinging arms untwine, 

The melting lips forget, 
And darkness veils the bridal shrine 55 

Where wreaths and torches met ; 
If Heaven but leaves a single thread 

Of Hope's dissolving chain, 
Even when her parting plumes are spread 

It bids them fold again; 60 

The cradle rocks beside the tomb; 

The cheek now changed and chill, 
Smiles on us in the morning bloom 

Of one that loves us still. 



Sweet image ! I have done thee wrong 65 

To claim this destined lay; 
The leaf that asked an idle song 

Must bear my tears away. 
Yet, in thy "memory shouldst thou keep 

This else forgotten strain, 70 

Till years have taught thine eyes to weep 

And flattery's voice is vain; 
O then, thou fledgling of the nest, 

Like the long-wandering dove, 
Thy weary heart may faint for rest, 75 

As mine, on changeless love; 



LEXINGTON 131 

And, while these sculptured lines retrace 

The hours now dancing by, 
This vision of .thy girlish grace 

May cost thee, too, a sigh. 80 

LEXINGTON 

Slowly the mist o'er the meadow was creeping, 

Bright on the dewy beds glistened the sun, 
When from his couch, while his children were sleeping, 
Rose the bold rebel and shouldered his gun. 

Waving her golden veil 5 

Over the silent dale, 
Blithe looked the morning on cottage and spire ; 

Hushed was his parting sigh, 

While from his noble eye 
Flashed the last sparkle of liberty's fire. 10 

On the smooth green where the fresh leaf is springing 

Calmly the first-born of glory have met ; 
Hark ! the death- volley around them is ringing ! 
Look ! with their life-blood the young grass is wet ! 

Faint is the feeble breath, 15 

Murmuring low in death, 
"Tell to our sons how their fathers have died;" 

Nerveless the iron hand, 

Raised for its native land, 
Lies by the weapon that gleams at its sides. 20 



132 HOLMES' POEMS 

Over the hillsides the wild knell is tolling, 

From their far hamlets the yeomanry come ; 
As through the storm-clouds the thunder-burst rolling, 
Circles the beat of the mustering drum. 

Fast on the soldier's path 25 

Darken the waves of wrath, 
Long have they gathered and loud shall they fall ; 

Red glares the musket's flash, 

Sharp rings the rifle's crash, 
Blazing and clanging from thicket and wall. 30 

Gayly the plume of the horseman was dancing, 

Never to shadow his cold brow again; 
Proudly at morning the war-steed was prancing, 
Reeking and panting he droops on the rein; 

Pale is the lip of scorn, 35 

Voiceless the trumpet horn, 
Torn is the silken-fringed red cross on high; 

Many a belted breast 

Low on the turf shall rest, 
Ere the dark hunters the herd have passed by. 40 

Snow-girclled crags where the hoarse wind is raving, 

Rocks where the weary floods murmur and wail, 
Wilds where the fern by the furrow is waving, 
Reeled with the echoes that rode on the gale; 

Far as the tempest thrills 45 

Over the darkened hills, 



OLD IRONSIDES 133 

Far as the sunshine streams over the plain, 

Roused by the tyrant band, 

Woke all the mighty land 
Girded for battle, from mountain to main. 5 o 

Green be the graves where her martyrs are lying ! 

Shroudless and tombless they sunk to their rest, — 
While o'er their ashes the starry fold flying 

Wraps the proud eagle they roused from his nest. 

Borne on her northern pine, 55 

Long o'er the foaming brine 
Spread her broad banner to storm and to sun ; 

Heaven keep her ever free, 

Wide as o'er land and sea 
Floats the fair emblem her heroes have won. 60 



°OLD IRONSIDES 

Ay, tear her tattered ensign down ! 

Long has it waved on high, 
And many an eye has danced to see 

That banner in the sky ; 
Beneath it rung the battle shout, 

And burst the cannon's roar; — 
The meteor of the ocean air 

Shall sweep the clouds no more ! 



134 HOLMES' POEMS 

Her deck, once red with heroes' blood, 

Where knelt the vanquished foe, 10 

When winds were hurrying o'er the flood, 

And waves were white below, 
No more shall feel the victor's tread, 

Or know the conquered knee; — 
The harpies of the shore shall pluck 15 

The eagle of the sea ! 

O better that her shattered hulk 

Should sink beneath the wave; 
Her thunder shook the mighty deep, 

And there should be her grave; 20 

Nail to the mast her holy flag, 

Set every threadbare sail, 
And give her to the god of stormc, 

The lightning and the gale ! 

INTERNATIONAL ODE — OUR FATHERS' 
LAND 

God bless our Fathers' Land ! 
Keep her in heart and hand 

One with our own ! 
From all her foes defend, 
Be her brave People's Friend, 5 

On all her realms descend, 

Protect her Throne! 



" QUI VIVE!" 135 

Father, with loving care 

Guard Thou her kingdom's Heir, 

Guide all his ways : 10 

Thine arm his shelter be, 
From him by land and sea 
Bid storm and danger flee, 

Prolong his days ! 

Lord, let War's tempest cease, 15 

Fold the whole Earth in peace 

Under Thy wings ! 
Make all Thy nations one, 
All hearts beneath the sun, 
Till Thou shalt reign alone, 20 

Great King of kings ! 



°"QUI VIVE!" 

"Qui vive !V The sentry's musket rings, 

The channelled bayonet gleams ; 
High o'er him, like a raven's wings 
The broad °tri-colored banner flings 
Its shadow, rustling as it swings 
Pale in the moonlight beams; 
Pass on ! while steel-clad sentries keep 
Their vigil o'er the monarch's sleep, 

Thy bare, unguarded breast 
Asks not the unbroken, bristling zone 



136 HOLMES' POEMS 

That girds yon sceptred trembler's throne; 
Pass on, and take thy rest ! 

" Qui vive ! " How oft the midnight air 

That startling cry has borne ! 
How oft the evening breeze has fanned 15 

The banner of this haughty land, 
O'er mountain snow and desert sand, 

Ere yet its folds were torn ! 
Through °Jena's carnage flying red, 
Or tossing o'er Marengo's dead, 20 

Or curling on the towers 
Where Austria's eagle quivers yet, 
And suns the ruffled plumage, wet 

With battle's crimson showers ! 

"Qui vive !" And is the sentry's cry, — 25 

The sleepless soldier's hand, — 
Are these, — the painted folds that fly 
And lift their emblems, printed high, 
On morning mist and sunset sky, — 

The guardians of a land ? 30 

No ! If the patriot's pulses sleep, 
How vain the watch that hirelings keep, — 

The idle flag that waves, 
When Conquest, with his iron heel, 
Treads down the standards and the steel 35 

That belt the soil of slaves ! 



VIVE LA FRANCE! 137 



VIVE LA FRANCE ! 

The land of sunshine and of song ! 

Her name your hearts divine ; 
To her the banquet's vows belong 

Whose breasts have poured its wine; 
Our trusty friend, our true ally 5 

Through varied change and chance: 
So, fill your flashing goblets high, — 

I give you, Vive la France ! 

Above our hosts in triple folds 

The selfsame colors spread, 10 

Where Valor's faithful arm upholds 

The blue, the white, the red; 
Alike each nation's glittering crest 

Reflects the morning's glance, — 
Twin eagles, soaring east and west : 15 

Once more, then, Vive la France ! 

Sister in trial ! who shall count 

Thy generous friendship's claim, 
Whose blood ran mingling in the fount 

That gave our land its name, 20 

Till Yorktown saw in blended line 

Our conquering arms advance, 
And victory's double garlands twine 

Our banners? Vive la France! 



138 HOLMES' POEMS 

O land of heroes ! in our need 25 

One gift from Heaven we crave 
To stanch these wounds that vainly bleed, — 

The w T ise to lead the brave ! 
Call back one Captain of thy past 

From glory's marble trance, 30 

Whose name shall be a bugle-blast 

To rouse us ! Vive la France ! 

°Pluck Conde's baton from the trench, 

Wake up stout °Charles Martel, 
Or find some woman's hand to clench 35 

The sword of °La Pucelle ! 
(live us one hour of old °Turenne,— 

°One lift of Bayard's lance, — 
Nay, °call Marengo's Chief again 

To lead us ! Vive la France ! 40 

Ah, hush ! our welcome Guest shall hear 

But sounds of peace and joy; 
No angry echo vex thine ear, 

Fair Daughter of Savoy ! 
Once more ! the land of arms and arts, 4$ 

Of glory, grace, romance; 
Her love lies warm in all our hearts : 

God bless her! Vive la France! 



BROTHER JONATHAN'S LAMENT 139 



°BROTHER JONATHAN'S LAMENT FOR 
SISTER CAROLINE 

She has gone, — she has left us in passion and pride, — 
Our stormy-browed sister, so long at our side ! 
She has torn her own star from our firmament's glow, 
And turned on her brother the face of a foe ! 

O Caroline, Caroline, child of the sun, 5 

We can never forget that our hearts have been one, — 
Our foreheads both sprinkled in Liberty's name, 
From the fountain of blood with the finger of flame ! 

You were always too ready to fire at a touch; 

But we said, "She is hasty, — she does not mean 

much." 10 

We have scowled, when you uttered some turbulent 

threat ; 
But Friendship still whispered, " Forgive and forget!" 

Has our love all died out ? Have its altars grown cold ? 
Has the curse come at last which the fathers foretold ? 
Then Nature must teach us the strength of the chain 15 
That her petulant children would sever in vain. 

They may fight till the buzzards are gorged with their 

spoil, 
Till the harvest grows black as it rots in the soil, 



140 HOLMES' POEMS 

Till the wolves and the catamounts troop from their 

caves, 
And the shark tracks the pirate, the lord of the 

waves : 20 

In vain is the strife ! When its fury is past, 

Their fortunes must flow in one channel at last, 

As the torrents that rush from the mountains of snow 

Roll mingled in peace through the valleys below. 

Our Union is river, lake, ocean, and sky: 25 

Man breaks not the medal, when God cuts the die ! 
Though darkened with sulphur, though cloven with 

stool, 
The blue arch will brighten, the waters will heal ! 

O Caroline, Caroline, child of the sun, 
There are battles with Fate that can never be won! 30 
The star-flowering banner must never be furled, 
For its blossoms of light are the hope of the world ! 

Go, then, our rash sister ! afar and aloof, 
Run wild in the sunshine away from our roof; 
But when your heart aches and your feet have grown 
sore, 35 

Remember the pathway that leads to our door ! 



UNDER THE WASHINGTON ELM, CAMBRIDGE 141 



UNDER THE WASHINGTON ELM, 
CAMBRIDGE 

Eighty years have passed, and more, 

Since under the brave old tree 
Our fathers gathered in arms, and swore 
They would follow the sign their banners bore, 

And fight till the land was free. 5 

Half of their work was done, 

Half is left to do, — 
Cambridge, and Concord, and Lexington ! 
When the battle is fought arid won, 

What shall be told of you ? 10 

Hark! — 'tis the south- wind moans, — 

Who are the martyrs down ? 
Ah, the marrow was true in your children's bones 
That sprinkled with blood the cursed stones 

Of the murder-haunted town ! 15 

What if the storm-clouds blow ? 

What if the green leaves fall ? 
Better the crashing tempest's throe 
Than the army of worms that gnawed below T ; 

Trample them one and all ! 20 



142 HOLMES' POEMS 

Then, when the battle is won, 

And the land from traitors free, 
Our children shall tell of the strife begun 
When Liberty's second April sun 

Was bright on our brave old tree ! 25 



FREEDOM, OUR QUEEN 

Land where the banners wave last in the sun, 
Blazoned with star-clusters, many in one, 
Floating o'er prairie and mountain and sea; 
Hark ! 'tis the voice of thy children to thee ! 

Here at thine altar our vows we renew 5 

Still in thy cause to be loyal and true, — 
True to thy flag on the field and the wave, 
Living to honor it, dying to save ! 

Mother of heroes ! if perfidy's blight 
Fall on a star in thy garland of light, 10 

Sound but one bugle-blast ! Lo ! at the sign 
Armies all panoplied wheel into line ! 

Hope of the world ! thou hast broken its chains, — 
Wear thy bright arms while a tyrant remains, 
Stand for the right till the nations shall own 15 

Freedom their sovereign, with Law for her throne ! 



ARMY HYMN 14£ 

Freedom ! sweet Freedom ! our voices resound, 
Queen by God's blessing, unsceptred, uncrowned ! 
Freedom, sweet Freedom, our pulses repeat, 
Warm with her life-blood, as long as they beat ! 2c 

Fold the broad banner-stripes over her breast, — 
Crown her with star-jewels Queen of the West ! 
Earth for her heritage, God for her friend, 
She shall reign over us, world without end ! 



ARMY HYMN 

O Lord of Hosts ! Almighty King ! 
Behold the sacrifice we bring ! 
To every arm Thy strength impart, 
Thy spirit shed through every heart ! 

Wake in our breasts the living fires, 
The holy faith that warmed our sires ; . 
Thy hand hath made our Nation free; 
To die for her is serving Thee. 

Be thou a pillared flame to show 
The midnight snare, the silent foe; 
And when the battle thunders loud, 
Still guide us in its moving cloud. 



144 HOLMES' POEMS 

God of all Nations ! Sovereign Lord ! 

In Thy dread name we draw the sword, 

We lift the starry flag on high i 5 

That fills with light our stormy sky. 

From treason's rent, from murder's stain, 
Guard Thou its folds till Peace shall reign, — 
Till fort and field, till shore and sea, 
Join our loud anthem, Praise to Thee ! 20 



PARTING HYMN p0 

I 

Father of Mercies, Heavenly Friend, 

We seek Thy gracious throne; 
To Thee our faltering prayers ascend, 

Our fainting hearts are known ! 

From blasts that chill, from suns that smite, 
From every plague that harms; 

In camp and march, in siege and fight, 
Protect our men-at-arms ! 

Though from our darkened lives they take 
What makes our life most dear, 

We yield them for their country's sake 
With no relenting tear. 



THE FLOWER OF LIBERTY 145 

Our blood their flowing veins will shed, 
Their wounds our breasts will share; 

O, save us from the woes we dread, 15 

Or grant us strength to bear ! 

Let each unhallowed cause that brings 

The stern destroyer cease, 
Thy flaming angel fold his wings, 

And seraphs whisper Peace ! 20 

Thine are the sceptre and the sword, 

Stretch forth Thy mighty hand, — 
Reign Thou our kingless nation's Lord, 

Rule Thou our throneless land ! 



THE FLOWER OF LIBERTY 

What flower is this that greets the morn, 
Its hues from Heaven so freshly born ? 
With burning star and flaming band 
It kindles all the sunset land : 
O tell us what its name may be, — 
Is this the Flower of Liberty ? 
It is the banner of the free, 
The starry Flower of Liberty ! 

In savage Nature's far abode 

Its tender seed our fathers sowed; 



146 HOLMES' POEMS 

The storm-winds rocked its swelling bud, 
Its opening leaves were streaked with blood, 
Till lo ! earth's tyrants shook to see 
The full-blown Flower of Liberty ! 

Then hail the banner of the free, 15 

The starry Flower of Liberty ! 

Behold its streaming rays unite, 

One mingling flood of braided light, — 

The red that fires the Southern rose, 

With spotless white from Northern snows, 20 

And, spangled o'er its azure, see 

The sister Stars of Liberty ! 

Then hail the banner of the free, 

The starry Flower of Liberty ! 

The blades of heroes fence it round, 25 

Where'er it springs is holy ground; 

From tower and dome its glories spread ; 

It w T aves where lonely sentries tread; 

It makes the land as ocean free, 

And plants an empire on the sea ! 30 

Then hail the banner of the free, 

The starry Flower of Liberty ! 

Thy sacred leaves, fair Freedom's flower, 

Shall ever float on dome and tower, 

To all their heavenly colors true, 35 

In blackening frost or crimson dew, — 



SPRING 147 

And God loves us as we love thee, 
Thrice holy Flower of Liberty ! 

Then hail the banner of the free, 

The starry Flower of Liberty. 40 



SPRING 

Winter is past; the heart of Nature warms 
Beneath the wrecks of unresisted storms; 
Doubtful at first, suspected more than seen, 
The southern slopes are fringed with tender green; 
On sheltered banks, beneath the dripping eaves, 5 

Spring's earliest nurslings spread their glowing leaves, 
Bright with the hues from wider pictures won, 
White, azure, golden — drift, or sky, or sun; — 
The snowdrop, bearing on her patient breast 
The frozen trophy torn from Winter's crest ; 10 

The violet, gazing on the arch of blue 
Till her own iris wears its deepened hue ; 
The spendthrift crocus, bursting through the mould 
Naked and shivering with his cup of gold. 
Swelled with new life, the darkening elm on high 15 
Prints her thick buds against the spotted sky; 
On all her boughs the stately chestnut cleaves 
The gummy shroud that wraps her embryo leaves ; 
The house-fly, stealing from his narrow grave, 
Drugged with the opiate that November gave, 20 



148 HOLMES' POEMS 

Beats with faint wing against the sunny pane, 

Or crawls, tenacious, o'er its lucid plain; 

From shaded chinks of lichen-crusted walls, 

In languid curves, the gliding serpent crawls; 

The bog's green harper, thawing from his sleep, 25 

Twangs a hoarse note and tries a shortened leap; 

On floating rails that face the softening noons 

The still shy turtles range their dark platoons, 

Or, toiling aimless o'er the mellowing fields, 

Trail through the grass their tessellated shields. 30 

At last young April, ever frail and fair, 
Wooed by her playmate with the golden hair, 
Chased to the margin of receding floods 
O'er the soft meadows starred with opening buds, 
In tears and blushes sighs herself away, 35 

And hides her cheek beneath the flowers of May. 

Then the proud tulip lights her beacon blaze, 
Her clustering curls the hyacinth displays, 
O'er her tall blades the crested fleur-de-lis, 
Like blue-eyed °Pallas, towers erect and free ; 40 

With yellower flames the lengthened sunshine grows, 
And love lays bare the passion-breathing rose; 
Queen of the lake, along its reedy verge 
The rival Lily hastens to emerge, 

Her snowy shoulders glistening as she strips, 45 

Till mom is sultan of her parted lips. 



SPBING 149 

Then bursts the song from every leafy glade, 
The yielding season's bridal serenade; 
Then flash the wings returning Summer calls 
Through the deep arches of her forest halls ; — 50 

The bluebird, breathing from his azure plumes 
The fragrance borrowed where the myrtle blooms ; 
The thrush, poor wanderer, dropping meekly down, 
Clad in his remnant of autumnal brown ; 
The oriole, drifting like a flake of fire 55 

Rent by a whirlwind from a blazing spire. 
The robin, jerking his spasmodic throat, 
Repeats, imperious, his staccato note; 
The crack-brained bobolink courts his crazy mate, 
Poised on a bulrush tipsy with his weight ; 60 

Nay, in his cage the lone canary sings, 
Feels the soft air, and spreads his idle wings. 

Why dream I here within these caging walls, 
Deaf to her voice, while blooming Nature calls; 
Peering and gazing with insatiate looks 65 

Through blinding lenses, or in wearying books ? 
Off, gloomy spectres of the shrivelled past ! 
Fly with the leaves that fill the autumn blast ! 
Ye imps of Science, whose relentless chains 
Lock the warm tides within these living veins, 70 

Close your dim cavern, while its captive strays 
Dazzled and giddy in the morning's blaze ! 



150 HOLMES' POEMS 

SPRING HAS COME 

° INTRA MUROS 

The sunbeams, lost for half a year, 

Slant through my pane their morning rays; 

For dry northwesters cold and clear, 
The east blows in its thin blue haze. 

And first the snowdrop's bells are seen, 5 

Then close against the sheltering wall 

The tulip's horn of dusky green, 
The peony's dark unfolding ball. 

The golden-chaliced crocus burns; 

The long narcissus-blades appear; 10 

The cone-beaked hyacinth returns 

To light her blue-flamed chandelier. 

The willow's whistling lashes, wrung 

By the wild winds of gusty March, 
With sallow leaflets lightly strung, i 5 

Are swaying by the tufted larch. 

The elms have robed their slender spray 
With full-blown flower and embryo leaf; 

Wide o'er the clasping arch of day 

Soars like a cloud their hoary chief. 20 



SPBING HAS COME 151 

See the proud tulip's flaunting cup, 

That flames in glory for an hour, — 
Behold it withering, — then look up, — 

How meek the forest monarch's flower ! 

When wake the violets, Winter dies; 25 

When sprout the elm-buds, Spring is near; 

When lilacs blossom, Summer cries, 
" Bud, little roses ! Spring is here ! " 

The windows blush with fresh bouquets, 

Cut with the May-dew on their lips ; 30 

The radish all its bloom displays, 
°Pink as Aurora's finger-tips. 

Nor less the flood of light that showers 
On beauty's changed corolla-shades, — 

The walks are gay as bridal bowers 35 

With rows of many-petalled maids. 

The scarlet shell-fish click and clash 

In the blue barrow where they slide ; 
The horseman, proud of streak and splash, 

Creeps homeward from his morning ride. 40 

Here comes the dealer's awkward string, 
With neck in rope and tail in knot, — 

Rough colts, with careless country-swing, 
In lazy walk or slouching trot. 



152 HOLMES' POEMS 

Wild filly from the mountain-side, 45 

Doomed to the close and chafing thills, 

Lend me thy long, untiring stride 
To seek with thee thy western hills ! 

I hear the whispering voice of Spring, 

The thrush's trill, the robin's cry, 5 o 

Like some poor bird with prisoned wing 

That sits and sings, but longs to fly. 

O for one spot of living green, — 

One little spot where leaves can grow, — 

To love unblamed, to walk unseen, 5S 

To dream above, to sleep below ! 



OUR LIMITATIONS 

We trust and fear, we question and believe, 
From life's dark threads a trembling faith to weave, 
Frail as the web that misty night has spun, 
Whose dew-gemmed awnings glitter in the sun. 
While the calm centuries spell their lessons out, 
Each truth we conquer spreads the realm of doubt; 
°When Sinai's summit was Jehovah's throne, 
The chosen Prophet knew his voice alone; 
°When Pilate's hall that awful question heard, 
The Heavenly Captive answered not a word. 



THE OLD PLAYER 153 

Eternal Truth ! beyond our hopes and fears 
Sweep the vast orbits of thy myriad spheres ! 
From age to age, while History carves sublime 
On her waste rock the flaming curves of time, 
How the wild swayings of our planet show 15 

That worlds unseen surround the world we know. 



THE OLD PLAYER 

The curtain rose ; in thunders long and loud 
The galleries rung; the veteran actor bowed. 
In flaming line the telltales of the stage 
Showed on his brow the autograph of age ; 
Pale, hueless waves amid his clustered hair, 5 

And umbered shadows, prints of toil and care; 
Round the wide circle glanced his vacant eye, — 
He strove to speak, — his voice was but a sigh. 

Year after year had seen its short-lived race 
Flit past the scenes and others take their place; 10 

Yet the old prompter watched his accents still, 
His name still flaunted on the evening's bill. 
Heroes, the monarchs of the scenic floor, 
Had died in earnest and were heard no more ; 
Beauties, whose cheeks such roseate bloom overspread 15 
They faced the footlights in unborrowed red, 



154 HOLMES' rOEMS 

Had faded slowly through successive shades 

To gray duennas, foils of younger maids; 

Sweet voices lost the melting tones that start 

With Southern throbs the sturdy Saxon heart, 20 

While fresh sopranos shook the painted sky 

With their long, breathless, quivering locust-cry. 

Yet there he stood, — the man of other days, 

In the clear present's full, unsparing blaze, 

As on the oak a faded leaf that clings 25 

While a new April spreads its burnished wings. 

How bright yon rows that soared in triple tier, 
Their central sun the Hashing chandelier! 
How dim the eye that sought with doubtful aim 
Some friendly smile it still might dare to claim ! 30 

How fresh these hearts ! his own how worn and cold ! 
Such the sad thoughts that long-drawn sigh had 
told. 

No word yet faltered on his trembling tongue; 
Again, again, the crashing galleries rung. 
As the old guardsman at the bugle's blast 35 

Hears in its strain the echoes of the past ; 
So, as the plaudits rolled and thundered round, 
A life of memories startled at the sound. 

He lived again, — the page of earliest days, — 
Days of small fee and parsimonious praise ; 40 

Then lithe young °Romeo — hark that silvered tone, 
From those smooth lips — alas ! they were his own. 



THE OLD PLAYER 155 

Then the bronzed Moor, with all his love and woe, 

Told his strange tale of midnight melting snow ; 

And dark-plumed Hamlet, with his cloak and blade, 45 

Looked on the royal ghost, himself a shade. 

All in one flash, his youthful memories came, 

Traced in bright hues of evanescent flame, 

As the spent swimmer's in the lifelong dream, 

While the last bubble rises through the stream. 50 

Call him not old, whose visionary brain 
Holds o'er the past its undivided reign. 
For him in vain the envious seasons roll 
Who bears eternal summer in his soul. 
If yet the minstrel's song, the poet's lay, 55 

Spring with her birds, or children at their play, 
Or maiden's smile, or heavenly dream of art, 
Stir the few life-drops creeping round his heart, 
Turn to the record where his years are told, — 
Count his gray hairs, — they cannot make him old ! 60 

What magic power has changed the faded mime ? 
One breath of memory on the dust of time. 
As the last window in the buttressed wall 
Of some gray minster tottering to its fall, 
Though to the passing crowd its hues are spread, 65 
A dull mosaic, yellow, green, and red, 
Viewed from within, a radiant glory shows 
When through its pictured screen the sunlight flows, 
And kneeling pilgrims on its storied pane 
See angels glow in every shapeless stain; 70 



156 HOLMES' POEMS 

So streamed the vision through his sunken eye, 
Clad in the splendors of his morning sky. 

All the wild hopes his eager boyhood knew, 
All the young fancies riper years proved true, 
The sweet, low-whispered words, the winning glance 75 
From queens of song, from °Houris of the dance, 
Wealth's lavish gift, and Flattery's soothing phrase, 
And Beauty's silence when her blush was praise, 
And melting Pride, her lashes wet with tears, 
Triumphs and banquets, wreaths and crowns and 
cheers, 80 

Pangs of wild joy that perish on the tongue, 
And all that poets dream, but leave unsung! 

In every heart some viewless founts are fed 
From far-off hillsides where t he dews were shed; 
On the worn features of the weariest face 85 

Some youthful memory leaves its hidden trace, 
As in old gardens left by exiled kings 
The marble basins tell of hidden springs, 
Put, gray with dust, and overgrown with weeds, 
Their choking jets the passer little heeds, 90 

Till time's revenges break their seals away, 
And, clad in rainbow light, the waters play. 

Good night, fond dreamer ! let the curtain fall : 
The world's a stage, and we are players all. 
A strange rehearsal ! Kings without their crowns, 95 
And threadbare lords, and jewel-wearing clowns, 



THE OLD PLAYER 157 

Speak the vain words that mock their throbbing hearts, 

As Want, stern prompter! spells them out their parts. 

The tinselled hero whom we praise and pay 

Is twice an actor in a twofold play. ioo 

We smile at children when a painted screen 

Seems to their simple eyes a real scene ; 

Ask the poor hireling, who has left his throne 

To seek the cheerless home he calls his own, 

Which of his double lives most real seems, 105 

The world of solid fact or scenic dreams ? 

Canvas, or clouds, — the footlights, or the spheres, — 

The play of two short hours, or seventy years ? 

Dream on ! Though Heaven may woo our open eyes, 
Through their closed lids we look on fairer skies; no 
Truth is for other worlds, and hope for this; 
The cheating future lends the present's bliss ; 
Life is a running shade, with fettered hands, 
That chases phantoms over shifting sands; 
Death a still spectre on a marble seat, 115 

With ever clutching palms and shackled feet ; 
The airy shapes that mock life's slender chain, 
The flying joys he strives to clasp in vain, 
Death only grasps ; to live is to pursue, — 
Dream on ! there's nothing but illusion true ! 120 



158 HOLMES" POEMS 



THE ISLAND RUIN 



Ye that have faced the billows and the spray 
Of good °St. Botolph's island-studded bay, 
As from the gliding bark your eye has scanned 
The beaconed rocks, the wave-girt hills of sand, 
Have ye not marked one elm-o'ershadowed isle, 5 

Round as the dimple chased in beauty's smile, — 
A stain of verdure on an azure field, 
Set like a jewel in a battered shield? 
Fixed in the narrow gorge of Ocean's path, 
Peaceful it meets him in his hour of wrath; 10 

When the mailed °Titan, scourged by hissing gales, 
Writhes in his glistening coat of clashing scales; 
The storm-beat island spreads its tranquil green, 
Calm as an emerald on an angry queen. 

So fair when distant should be fairer near; 15 

A boat shall waft us from the outstretched pier. 
The breeze blows fresh; we reach the island's edge, 
Our shallop rustling through the yielding sedge. 

No welcome greets us on the desert isle; 
Those elms, far-shadowing, hide no stately pile : 20 

Yet these green ridges mark an ancient road; 
And lo ! the traces of a fair abode; 
The long gray line that marks a garden-wall, 
And heaps of fallen beams, — fire-branded all. 

Who sees unmoved, a ruin at his feet, 25 

The lowliest home where human hearts have beat ? 



THE ISLAND RUIN 159 

Its hearthstone, shaded with the bistre stain 
A century's showery torrents wash in vain ; 
Its starving orchard, where the thistle blows 
And mossy trunks still mark the broken rows ; 30 

Its chimney-loving poplar, oftenest seen 
Next an old roof, or where a roof has been ; 
Its knot-grass, plantain, — all the social weeds, 
Man's mute companions, following where he leads; 
Its dwarfed, pale flowers, that show their straggling 
heads, 35 

Sown by the wind from grass-choked garden-beds; 
Its woodbine, creeping where it used to climb; 
Its roses, breathing of the olden time; 
All the poor shows the curious idler sees, 
As life's thin shadows waste by slow degrees, 40 

Till naught remains, the saddening tale to tell, 
Save home's last wrecks, — the cellar and the well! 
And whose the home that strews in black decay 
The one green-glowing island of the bay ? 
Some dark-browed pirate's, jealous of the fate 45 

That seized the strangled wretch of " Nix's Mate"? 
Some forger's, skulking in a borrowed name, 
Whom °Tyburn's dangling halter yet may claim ? 
Some wan-eyed exile's, wealth and sorrow's heir, 
Who sought a lone retreat for tears and prayer ? 50 

Some brooding poet's, sure of deathless fame, 
Had not his epic perished in the flame ? 
Or some gray wooer's, whom a girlish frown 
Chased from his solid friends and sober town ? 



160 



HOLMES' POEMS 



Or some plain tradesman's, fond of shade and ease, 5S 
Who sought them both beneath these quiet trees? 
Why question mutes no question can unlock, 
°Dumb as the legend on the Dighton rock? 
One thing at least these ruined heaps declare,— 
They were a shelter once; a man lived there/ 6o 

^ But where the charred and crumbling records fail, 
Some breathing lips may piece the half-told tale; 
No man may live with neighbors such as these, ' 
Though girt with walls of rock and angry seas/ 
And shield his homo, his children, or his wife, ' 65 

His ways, his means, his vote, his creed, his life, 
From the dread sovereignty of Ears and Eyes 
And the small member that beneath them lies. 

They told strange things of that mysterious man; 
Believe who will, deny them such as can; ' 70 

A\ hy should we fret if every passing sail 
Had its old seaman talking on the rail? 
The deep-sunk schooner stuffed with Eastern lime, 
Slow wedging on, as if the waves were slime; 
The knife-edged clipper with her ruffled spars, 
The pawing steamer with her mane of stars, 
The bull-browed galliot butting through the' stream, 
The wide-sailed yacht that slipped along her beam, 
The deck-piled sloops, the pinched chebacco-boats/ 
The frigate, black with thunder-freighted throats/ 
All had their talk about the lonely man; 
And thus, in varying phrase, the story ran. 



75 



80 



THE ISLAND RUIN 161 

His name had cost him little care to seek, 
Plain, honest, brief, a decent name to speak, 
Common, not vulgar, just the kind that slips 85 

With least suggestion from a stranger's lips. 
His birthplace England, as his speech might show, 
Or his hale cheek, that wore the red- streak's glow; 
His mouth sharp-moulded ; in its mirth or scorn 
There came a flash as from the milky corn, 90 

When from the ear you rip the rustling sheath, 
And the white ridges show their even teeth. 
His stature moderate, but his strength confessed, 
In spite of broadcloth, by his ample breast; 
Full-armed, thick-handed ; one that had been strong, 95 
And might be dangerous still, if things went wrong. 
He lived at ease beneath his elm-trees' shade, 
Did naught for gain, yet all his debts were paid; 
Rich, so 'twas thought, but careful of his store; 
Had all he needed, claimed to have no more. 100 

But some that lingered round the isle at night 
Spoke of strange stealthy doings in their sight ; 
Of creeping lonely visits that he made 
To nooks and corners, with a torch and spade. 
Some said they saw the hollow of a cave; ■ 105 

One, given to fables, swore it was a grave; 
Whereat some shuddered, others boldly cried, 
Those prowling boatmen lied, and knew they lied. 

They said his house was framed with curious cares, 
Lest some old friend might enter unawares; no 

M 



162 HOLMES' POEMS 

That on the platform at his chamber's door 

Hinged a loose square that opened through the floor; 

Touch the black silken tassel next the bell, 

Down, with a crash, the flapping trap-door fell; 

Three stories deep the falling wretch would strike, 115 

To writhe at leisure on a boarder's pike. 

By day armed always; double-armed at night, 
His tools lay round him; Avake him such as might. 
A carbine hung beside his India fan, 
His hand could reach a °Turkish ataghan; 120 

Pistols, with quaint-carved stocks and barrels gilt, 
Crossed a long dagger with a jewelled hilt; 
A slashing cutlass stretched along the bed; — 
All this was what those lying boatmen said. 

Then some were full of wondrous stories told 125 

Of great oak chests and cupboards full of gold; 
Of the wedged ingots and the silver bars 
That cost old pirates ugly sabre-scars; 
How his laced w T allet often would disgorge 
The fresh-faced guinea of an English George, 130 

Or sweated ducat, palmed by Jews of yore, 
°Or double Joe, or Portuguese moidore, 
And how his finger wore a rubied ring 
Fit for the white-necked play-girl of a king. 
But these fine legends, told with staring eyes, 135 

Met with small credence from the old and wise. 

Why tell each idle guess, each whisper vain ? 
Enough: the scorched and cindered beams remain. 



A MOTHER'S SECRET 163 

He came, a silent pilgrim to the West, 

Some old-world mystery throbbing in his breast ; 140 

Close to the thronging mart he dwelt alone; 

He lived; he died. The rest is all unknown. 

Stranger, whose eyes the shadowy isle survey, 
As the black steamer dashes through the bay, 
Why ask his buried secret to divine ? 145 

H& w T as thy brother; speak, and tell us thine! 



A MOTHER'S SECRET 

How sweet the sacred legend — if unblamed 
In my slight verse such holy things are named — 
Of Mary's secret hours of hidden joy, 
Silent, but pondering on her wondrous boy ! 
°Ave, Maria ! Pardon, if I wrong 5 

Those heavenly words that shame my earthly song ! 

The choral host had closed the Angel's strain 
Sung to the listening watch on Bethlehem's plain, ' 
And now the shepherds, hastening on their way, 
Sought the still hamlet where the Infant lay. 10 

They passed the fields that gleaning °Ruth toiled 

o'er, — 
They saw afar the ruined threshing-floor 
Where Moab's daughter, homeless and forlorn, 
Found Boaz slumbering by his heaps of corn ; 



164 HOLMES' POEMS 

And some remembered how the holy scribe, 15 

Skilled in the lore of every jealous tribe, 

Traced the warm blood of Jesse's royal son 

To that fair alien, bravely wooed and won. 

So fared they on to seek the promised sign 

That marked the anointed heir of David's line. 20 

At last, by forms of earthly semblance led, 
They found the crowded inn, the oxen's shed. 
No pomp was there, no glory shone around 
On the coarse straw that strewed the reeking ground; 
One dim retreat a flickering torch betrayed, — 25 

In that poor cell the Lord of Life was laid ! 

The wondering shepherds told their breathless tale 
Of the bright choir that woke the sleeping vale; 
Told how the skies with sudden glory flamed, 
Told how the shining multitude proclaimed 30 

" Joy, joy to earth ! Behold the hallowed morn ! 
In David's city Christ the Lord is born ! 
1 Glory to God ! ' let angels shout on high, 
'Good-will to men!' the listening earth reply!" 

They spoke with hurried words and accents wild; 35 
Calm in his cradle slept the heavenly child. 
No trembling word the mother's joy revealed, — 
One sigh of rapture, and her lips were sealed ; 
Unmoved she saw the rustic train depart, 
But kept their words to ponder in her heart. 40 

Twelve years had passed; the boy was fair and tall, 
Growing in wisdom, finding grace with all. 



A MOTHER'S SECRET 165 

The maids of Nazareth, as they trooped to fill 

Their balanced urns beside the mountain rill, — 

The gathered matrons, as they sat and spun, — 45 

Spoke in soft words of Joseph's quiet son. 

No voice had reached the Galilean vale 

Of star-led kings, or awe-struck shepherd's tale; 

In the meek, studious child they only saw 

The future Rabbi, learned in Israel's law. 50 

So grew the boy, and now the feast was near 
When at the Holy Place the tribes appear. 
Scarce had the home-bred child of Nazareth seen 
Beyond the hills that girt the village green, 
Save when at midnight, o'er the starlit sands, 55 

Snatched from the °steel of Herod's murdering bands, 
A babe, close folded to his mother's breast, 
Through Edom's wilds he sought the sheltering West. 

Then Joseph spake: "Thy boy hath largely grown; 
Weave him fine raiment, fitting to be shown; 60 

Fair robes beseem the pilgrim, as the priest : 
Goes he not with us to the holy feast?" 

And Mary culled the flaxen fibres white ; 
Till eve she spun; she spun till morning light. 
The thread was twined ; its parting meshes through 65 
From hand to hand her restless shuttle flew, 
Till the full web was wound upon the beam ; 
Love's curious toil, — a vest without a seam! 

They reach the Holy Place, fulfil the days 
To solemn feasting given, and grateful praise. 70 



166 HOLMES' POEMS 

At last they turn, and far °Moriah's height 

Melts in the southern sky and fades from sight. 

All day the dusky caravan has flowed 

In devious trails along the winding road ; 

(For many a step their homeward path attends, 75 

And all the sons of Abraham are as friends.) 

Evening has come, — the hour of rest and joy, — 

Hush ! Hush ! That whisper, — u Where is Mary's boy ?" 

weary hour ! O aching days that passed 
Filled with strange fears each wilder than the last, — 80 
The soldier's lance, the fierce centurion's sword, 
The crushing wheels that whirl some Roman lord, 
The midnight crypt that sucks the captive's breath, 
The blistering sun on °Hinnom's vale of death ! 

Thrice on his cheek had rained the morning light; 85 
Thrice on his lips the mildewed kiss of night, 
Crouched by a sheltering column's shining plinth, 
Or stretched beneath the odorous terebinth. 

At last, in desperate mood, they sought once more 
The Temple's porches, searched in vain before; 90 

They found him seated with the ancient men, — 
The grim old rufflers of the tongue and pen, — ■ 
Their bald heads glistening as they clustered near, 
Their gray beards slanting as they turned to hear, 
Lost in half-envious wonder and surprise 95 

That lips so fresh should utter words so wise. 

And Mary said, — as one who, tried too long, 
Tells all her grief and half her sense of wrong, — 



THE SECRET OF THE STARS 167 

"What is this thoughtless thing which thou hast done? 
Lo, we have sought thee sorrowing, O my son I" ioo 

Few words he spake, and scarce of filial tone, 
Strange words, their sense a mystery yet unknown ; 
Then turned with them and left the holy hill, 
To all their mild commands obedient still. 

The tale was told to Nazareth's sober men, 105 

And Nazareth's matrons told it oft again, 
The maids retold it at the fountain's side, 
The youthful shepherds doubted or denied ; 
It passed around among the listening friends, 
With all that fancy adds and fiction lends, no 

Till newer marvels dimmed the young renown 
Of Joseph's son, who talked the Rabbis down. 

But Mary, faithful to its lightest word, 
Kept in her heart the sayings she had heard, 
Till the dread morning rent the Temple's veil, 115 

And shuddering earth confirmed the wondrous tale. 

Youth fades; love droops; the leaves of friendship fall : 
A mother's secret hope outlives them all. 



THE SECRET OF THE STARS 

Is man's the only throbbing heart that hides 
The silent spring that feeds its whimpering tides ? 
Speak from thy caverns, mystery-breeding Earth ? 
Tell the half-hinted story of thy birth, 



1G8 HOLMES' POEMS 

And calm the noisy champions who have thrown 5 

Thfc book of types against the book of stone ! 

Have ye not secrets, ye refulgent spheres, 

No sleepless listener of the starlight hears ? 

In vain the sweeping equatorial pries 

Through every world-sown corner of the skies, 10 

To the far orb that so remotely strays 

Our midnight darkness is its noonday blaze; 

In vain the climbing soul of creeping man 

Metes out the heavenly concave with a span, 

Tracks into space the long-lost meteor's trail, 15 

And weighs an unseen planet in the scale; 

Still o'er their doubts the wan-eyed watchers sigh, 

And Science lifts her still unanswered cry : 

" Are all these worlds, that speed their circling flight, 

Dumb, vacant, soulless, — bawbles of the night? 20 

Warmed with God's smile and wafted by his breath, 

To weave in ceaseless round the dance of Death ? 

Or rolls a sphere in each expanding zone, 

Crowned with a life as varied as our own?" 

Maker of earth and stars ! If thou hast taught 25 
By what thy voice hath spoke, thy hand hath wrought, 
By all that Science proves, or guesses true, 
More than thy Poet dreamed, thy prophet knew, — . 
The heavens still bow in darkness at thy feet, 
And shadows veil thy cloud-pavilioned seat ! 30 



THE SECRET OF THE STARS 169 

Not for ourselves we ask thee to reveal 
One awful word beneath the future's seal; 
What thou shalt tell us, grant us strength to bear; 
What thou withholdest is thy single care. 
Not for ourselves; the present clings too fast, 35 

Moored to the mighty anchors of the past ; 
But when, with angry snap, some cable parts, 
The sound re-echoing in our startled hearts, — 
When, through the wall that clasps the harbor round, 
And shuts the raving ocean from its bound, 40 

Shattered and rent by sacrilegious hands, 
The first mad billow leaps upon the sands, — 
Then to the Future's awful page we turn, 
And what we question hardly dare to learn. 

Still let us hope ! for while we seem to tread 45 

The time-worn pathway of the nations dead, 
Though Sparta laughs at all our warlike deeds, 
And buried Athens claims our stolen creeds, 
Though Rome, a spectre on her broken throne, 
Beholds our eagle and recalls her own, 50 

Though England fling her pennons on the breeze 
And reign before us Mistress of the seas, — 
While calm-eyed History tracks us circling round 
Fate's iron pillar where they all were bound, 
She sees new beacons crowned with brighter flame 55 
Than the old watch-fires, like, but not the same ! 
Still in our path a larger curve she finds, 
The spiral widening as the chain unwinds ! 



170 HOLMES' POEMS 

No shameless haste shall spot with bandit-crime 
Our destined empire snatched before its time. 60 

Wait, — wait, undoubting, Tor the winds have caught 
From our bold speech the heritage of thought ; 
No marble form that sculptured truth can wear 
Vies with the image shaped in viewless air; 
And thought unfettered grows through speech to 
deeds, 65 

As the broad forest marches in its seeds. 
What though we perish ere the day is won ? 
Enough to see its glorious work begun ! 
The thistle falls before a trampling clown, 
But who can chain the flying thistle-down ? 70 

Wait while the fiery seeds of freedom fly, 
The prairie blazes when the grass is dry ! 

What arms might ravish, leave to peaceful arts, 
Wisdom and love shall win the roughest hearts ; 
So shall the angel who has closed for man 75 

The blissful garden since his woes began 
Swing wide the golden portals of the West, 
And Eden's secret stand at length confessed ! 

THE LAST READER 

I sometimes sit beneath a tree, 

And read my own sweet songs; 
Though nought they may to others be, 

Each humble line prolongs 



THE LAST READER 111 

A tone that might have passed away, 5 

But for that scarce remembered lay. 

I keep them like a lock or leaf, 

That some dear girl has given ; 
Frail record of an hour, as brief 

As sunset clouds in heaven, 10 

But spreading purple twilight still 
High over memory's shadowed hill. 

They lie upon my pathway bleak, 

Those flowers that once ran wild, 
As on a father's care-worn cheek 15 

The ringlets of his child; 
The golden mingling with the gray, 
And stealing half its snows away. 

What care I though the dust is spread 

Around these yellow leaves, 20 

Or o'er them his sarcastic thread 
Oblivion's insect weaves; 

Though weeds are tangled on the stream, 

It still reflects my morning's beam. 

And therefore love I such as smile 25 

On these neglected songs, 
Nor deem that flattery's needless wile 

My opening bosom wrongs, 



172 HOLMES' POEMS 

For who would trample, at my side, 

A few pale buds, my garden's pride ? 30 

It may be that my scanty ore 

Long years have washed away, 
And where were golden sands before, 

Is nought but common clay; 
Still something sparkles in the sun 35 

For Memory to look back upon. 

And when my name no more is heard, 

My lyre no more is known, 
Still let me, like a winter's bird, 

In silence and alone, 40 

Fold over them the weary wing 
Once flashing through the dews of spring. 

Yes, let my fancy fondly wrap 

My youth in its decline, 
And riot in the rosy lap 45 

Of thoughts that once were mine, 
And give the worm my little store 
When the last reader reads no more ! 



THE DYING SENECA 173 



°THE DYING SENECA 

He died not as the martyr dies, 

Wrapped in his living shroud of flame; 
He fell not as the warrior falls, 

Gasping upon the field of fame; 
A gentler passage to the grave, 5 

A murderer's softened fury gave. 

Rome's slaughtered sons and blazing piles 

Had tracked the purple demon's path, 
And yet another victim lived 

To fill the fiery scroll of wrath; 10 

Could not imperial vengeance spare 
His furrowed brow and silver hair? 

The field was sown with noble blood, 

The harvest reaped in burning tears, 
When, rolling up its crimson flood, 15 

Broke the long-gathering tide of years; 
His diadem was rent away, 
And beggars trampled on his clay. 

None wept, — none pitied; — they who knelt 

At morning by the despot's throne, 20 

At evening dashed the laurelled bust, 

And spurned the wreaths themselves had strewn ; 

The shout of triumph echoed wide, 

The self-stung reptile writhed and died ! 



174 HOLMES' POEMS 



A PORTRAIT 

A still, sweet, placid, moonlight face, 

And slightly nonchalant, 
Which seems to claim a middle place 

Between one's love and aunt, 
Where childhood's star has left a ray 5 

In woman's sunniest sky, 
As morning dew and blushing day 

On fruit and blossom lie. 

And yet, — and yet I cannot love 

Those lovely lines on steel ; 10 

They beam too much of heaven above 

Earth's darker shades to feel; 
Perchance some early weeds of care 

Around my heart have grown, 
And brows unfurrowed seem not fair, 15 

Because they mock my own. 

Alas ! when Eden's gates were sealed, 

How oft some sheltered flower 
Breathed o'er the wanderers of the held, 

Like their own bridal bower; 20 

Yet, saddened by its loveliness, 

And humbled by its pride, 
Earth's fairest child they could not bless, — 

It mocked them when they sighed. 



A ROMAN AQUEDUCT 175 



A ROMAN AQUEDUCT 

The sun-browned girl, whose limbs recline 
When noon her languid hand has laid 

Hot on the green flakes of the pine, 
Beneath its narrow disk of shade; 

As, through the flickering noontide glare, 5 

She gazes on the rainbow chain 
Of arches, lifting once in air 

The rivers of the Roman's plain; 

Say, does her wandering eye recall 

The mountain-current's icy wave, — 10 

Or for the dead one tear let fall, 

Whose founts are broken b}^ their grave ? 

From stone to stone the ivy weaves 

Her braided tracery's winding veil, 
And lacing stalks and tangled leaves 15 

Nod heavy in the drowsy gale. 

And lightly floats the pendant vine, 
That swings beneath her slender bow, 

Arch answering arch, — whose rounded line 

Seems mirrored in the wreath below. 2c 



176 HOLMES 1 POEMS 

How patient Nature smiles at Fame ! 

The weeds, that strewed the victor's way, 
Feed on his dust to shroud his name, 

Green where his proudest towers decay. 

See, through that channel, empty now, 25 

The scanty rain its tribute pours, — 

Which cooled the lip and laved the brow 
Of conquerors from a hundred shores. 

Thus bending o'er the nation's bier, 

Whose wants the captive earth supplied, 30 

The dew of Memory's passing tear 

Falls on the arches of her pride ! 



THE HUDSON 

Twas a vision of childhood that came with its dawn, 
Ere the curtain that covered life's day-star was drawn; 
The nurse told the tale when the shadows grew long, 
And the mother's soft lullaby breathed it in song. 

" There flows a fair stream by the hills of the west," — 5 
She sang to her boy as he lay on her breast ; 
" Along its smooth margin thy fathers have played; 
Beside its deep waters their ashes are laid." 



A SENTIMENT 111 

I wandered afar from the land of my birth, 
I saw the old rivers, renowned upon earth, 10 

But fancy still painted that wide-flowing stream 
With the many-hued pencil of infancy's dream. 

I saw the green banks of the castle-crowned Rhine, 
Where the grapes drink the moonlight and change it to 

wine ; 
I stood by the °Avon, whose waves as they glide 15 
Still whisper his glory who sleeps at their side. 

But my heart would still yearn for the sound of the waves 
That sing as they flow by my forefathers' graves; 
If manhood yet honors my cheek with a tear, 
I care not who sees it, — nor blush for it here ! 20 

Farewell to the deep-bosomed stream of the West ! 
I fling this loose blossom to float on its breast ; 
Nor let the dear love of its children grow cold, 
Till the channel is dry where its waters have rolled ! 



A SENTIMENT 

A triple health to Friendship, Science, Art, 
From heads and hands that own a common heart ! 
Each in its turn the others' willing slave, — 
Each in its season strong to heal and save. 



178 HOLMES' POEMS 

Friendship's blind service, in the hour of need, 
Wipes the pale face — and lets the victim bleed. 
Science must stop to reason and explain; 
Art claps his finger on the streaming vein. 

But Art's brief memory fails the hand at last; 
Then Science lifts the flambeau of the past. 
When both their equal impotence deplore, — 
When Learning sighs, and Skill can do no more,— 
The tear of Friendship pours its heavenly balm, 
And soothes the pang no anodyne may calm ! 



THE PILGRIM'S VISION 

In the hour of twilight shadows 

The Pilgrim sire looked out; 
He thought of the "bloudy Salvages' 7 

That lurked all round about, 
°Of Wituwamet's pictured knife 

And Pecksuot's whooping shout; 
For the baby's limbs w r ere feeble, 

Though his father's arms were stout. 

His home was a freezing cabin, 
Too bare for the hungry rat, 

Its roof was thatched with ragged grass, 
And bald enough of that; 



THE PILGRIM'S VISION 179 

The hole that served for casement 

Was glazed with an ancient hat; 
And the ice was gently thawing i 5 

From the log whereon he sat. 

Along the dreary landscape 

His eyes went to and fro, 
The trees all clad in icicles, 

The streams that did not flow; * 20 

A sudden thought flashed o'er him, — 

A dream of long ago, — 
He smote his leathern jerkin, 

And murmured, "Even so ¥' 

"Come hither, God-be-Glorified, 25 

And sit upon my knee, 
Behold the dream unfolding, 

Whereof I spake to thee 
By the winter's hearth in °Leyden 

And on the stormy sea ; 30 

True is the dream's beginning, — 

So may its ending be ! 

"I saw in the naked forest 

Our scattered remnant cast, 
A screen of shivering branches 35 

Between them and the blast ; 
The snow was falling round them, 

The dying fell as fast; 



180 HOLMES' POEMS 

I looked to see them perish, 

When lo, the vision passed. 40 

" Again mine eyes were opened; — 

The feeble had waxed strong, 
The babes had grown to sturdy men, 

The remnant was a throng; 
By shadowed lake and winding stream, 45 

And all trhe shores along, 
The howling demons quaked to hear 

The Christian's godly song. 

"They slept, — the village fathers, — 

By river, lake, and shore, 50 

When far adown the steep of Time 

The vision rose once more ; 
°I saw along the winter snow 

A spectral column pour, 
And high above their broken ranks 55 

A tattered flag they bore. 

"Their Leader rode before them, 

Of bearing calm and high, 
The light of Heaven's own kindling 

Throned in his awful eye; 60 

These were a Nation's champions 

Her dread appeal to try ; 
God for the right ! I faltered, 

And lo, the train passed by. 



THE PILGRIM'S VISION 181 

"Once more; — the strife is ended, 65 

The solemn issue tried, 
The Lord of Hosts, his mighty arm 

Has helped our Israel's side; 
Gray stone and grassy hillock 

Tell where our martyrs died, 70 

But peaceful smiles the harvest, 

And stainless flows the tide. 

°"A crash, — as when some swollen cloud 

Cracks o'er the tangled trees ! 
With side to side, and spar to spar, 75 

Whose smoking decks are these ? 
I know °Saint George's blood-red cross, 

Thou °Mistress of the Seas, — 
But what is she, whose streaming bars 

Roll out before the breeze ? 80 

" Ah, well her iron ribs are knit, 

Whose thunders strive to quell 
The bellowing throats, the blazing lips, 

That pealed the ° Armada's knell ! 
The mist was cleared, — a wreath of stars 85 

Rose o'er the crimsoned swell, 
And, wavering from its haughty peak, 

The cross of England fell ! 

"O trembling Faith! though dark the morn, 

A heavenly torch is thine; 90 



182 HOLMES' POEMS 

While feebler races melt away, 

And paler orbs decline, 
Still shall the fiery pillar's ray 

Along thy pathway shine, 
, To light the chosen tribe that sought 95 

This Western Palestine ! 

"I see the living tide roll on; 

It crowns with flaming towers 
The icy capes of Labrador, 

The Spaniard's 'land of flowers' ! 100 

It streams beyond the splintered ridge 

That parts the Northern showers; 
From eastern rock to sunset wave 

The Continent is ours !" 

He ceased, — the grim old Puritan, — 105 

Then softly bent to cheer 
The pilgrim-child, whose wasting face 

Was meekly turned to hear; 
And drew his toil-worn sleeve across, 

To brush the manly tear no 

From cheeks that never changed in woe, 

And never blanched in fear. 

The weary pilgrim slumbers, 

His resting-place unknown ; 
His hands were crossed, his lids were closed, 115 

The dust was o'er him strown; 



THE NEW EDEN 183 

The drifting soil, the mouldering leaf, 

Along the sod were blown; 
His mound has melted into earth, 

His memory lives alone. 120 

So let it live unfading, 

The memory of the dead, 
Long as the pale anemone 

Springs where their tears were shed, 
Or, raining in the summer's wind 125 

In flakes of burning red, 
The wild rose sprinkles with its leaves 

The turf where once they bled ! 

Yea, when the frowning bulwarks 

That guard this holy strand 130 

Have sunk beneath the trampling surge 

In beds of sparkling sand, 
While in the waste of ocean 

One hoary rock shall stand, 
Be this its latest legend, — i 35 

Here was the Pilgrim's land ! 

THE NEW EDEN 

Scarce could the parting ocean close, 

Seamed by the Mayflower's cleaving bow, 

When o'er the rugged desert rose 
The waves that tracked the Pilgrim's plough. 



184 HOLMES' POEMS 

Then sprang from many a rock-strewn field 5 

The rippling grass, the nodding grain, 

Such growths as English meadows yield 
To scanty sun and frequent rain. 

But when the fiery days were done, 

And Autumn brought his purple haze, 10 

Then, kindling in the slanted sun, 

The hillsides gleamed with golden maize. 

The food was scant, the fruits were few : 
A red-streak glistening here and there; 

Perchance in statelier precincts grew 15 

Some stern old Puritanic peer. 

Austere in taste, and tough at core, 

Its unrelenting bulk was shed, 
To ripen in the Pilgrim's store 

When all the summer sweets were fled. 20 

Such was his lot, to front the storm 

With iron heart and marble brow, 
Nor ripen till his earthly form 

Was cast from life's autumnal bough. 

— But ever on the bleakest rock 25 

We bid the brightest beacon glow, 
And still upon the thorniest stock 

The sweetest roses love to blow. 



THE NEW EDEN 185 

So on our rude and wintry soil 

We feed the kindling flame of art, 30 

And steal the tropic's blushing spoil 

To bloom on Nature's ice-clad heart. 

See how the softening Mother's breast 
Warms to her children's patient wiles, — 

Her lips by loving Labor pressed 35 

Break in a thousand dimpling smiles, 

From when the flushing bud of June 

Dawns with its first auroral hue, 
Till shines the rounded harvest-moon, 

And velvet dahlias drink the dew. 40 

Nor these the only gifts she brings ; 

Look where the laboring orchard groans, 
And yields its beryl-threaded strings 

For chestnut burs and hemlock cones. 

Dear though the shadowy maple be, 45 

And dearer still the whispering pine, 
Dearest yon russet-laden tree 

Browned by the heavy rubbing kine ! 

There childhood flung its rustling stone, 

There venturous boyhood learned to climb,— 50 

How well the early graft was known 
Whose fruit was ripe ere harvest-time ! 



186 HOLMES' POEMS 

Nor be the °Fleming's pride forgot, 

With swinging drops and drooping bells, 

Freckled and splashed with streak and spot, 55 

On the warm-breasted, sloping swells; 

Nor Persia's painted garden-queen, — 

Frail °Houri of the trellised wall, — 
Her deep-cleft bosom scarfed with green, — 

Fairest to see, and first to fall. 60 



— When man provoked his mortal doom, 

And Eden trembled as he* fell, 
When blossoms sighed their last perfume, 

And branches waved their long farewell, 

One sucker crept beneath the gate, 65 

One seed was wafted o'er the wall, 
One bough sustained his trembling weight; 

These left the garden, — these were all. 

And far o'er many a distant zone 

These wrecks of Eden still are flung: 7° 

The fruits that Paradise hath known 

Are still in earthly gardens hung. 

Yes, by our own unstoried stream 

The pink-white apple-blossoms burst 
°That saw the young Euphrates gleam, — 75 

That Gihon's circling waters nursed. 



THE NEW EDEN 187 

For us the ambrosial pear displays 
The wealth its arching branches hold, 

Bathed by a hundred summery da}^s 

In floods of mingling fire and gold. 80 

And here, where beauty's cheek of flame 

With morning's earliest beam is fed, 
The sunset-painted peach may claim 

To rival its celestial red. 



— What though in some unmoistened vale 85 

The summer leaf grow brown and sere, 

Say, shall our star of promise fail 
That circles half the rolling sphere, 

From beaches salt with bitter spray, 

O'er prairies green with softest rain, 90 

And ridges bright with evening's ray, 

To rocks that shade the stormless main ? 

If by our slender-threaded streams 

The blade and leaf and blossom die, 
If, drained by noontide's parching beams, 95 

The milky veins of Nature dry, 

See, with her swelling bosom bare, 

Yon wild-eyed Sister in the West, — 
The ring of Empire round her hair, 

The Indian's wampum on her breast ! 100 



188 HOLMES' POEMS 

We saw the August sun descend, 

Day after day, with blood-red stain, 
And the blue mountains dimly blend 

With smoke- wreaths from the burning plain ; 

Beneath the hot °Sirocco's wings 105 

We sat and told the withering hours, 

Till Heaven unsealed its hoarded springs, 
And bade them leap in flashing showers. 

Yet in our °Ishmaers thirst we knew 

The mercy of the Sovereign hand no 

Would pour the fountain's quickening dew 

To feed some harvest of the land. 

No flaming swords of wrath surround 

Our second Garden of the Blest ; 
It spreads beyond its rocky bound, 115 

It climbs Nevada's glittering crest. 

God keep the tempter from its gate ! 

God shield the children, lest they fall 
From their stern fathers' free estate, — 

Till Ocean is its only wall ! 120 



THE ISLAND HUNTING-SONG 189 



THE ISLAND HUNTING-SONG 

No more the summer floweret charms, 

The leaves will soon be sere, 
And Autumn folds his jewelled arms 

Around the dying year; 
So, ere the waning seasons claim 5 

Our leafless groves awhile, 
With golden wine and glowing flame 

We'll crown our lonely isle. 

Once more the merry voices sound 

Within the antlered hall, 10 

And long and loud the baying hounds 

Return the hunter's call ; 
And through the woods, and o'er the hill, 

And far along the bay, 
The driver's horn is sounding shrill, — 15 

Up, sportsmen, and away ! 

No bars of steel, or walls of stone, 

Our little empire bound, 
But, circling with his azure zone, 

The sea runs foaming round ; 20 

The whitening wave, the purpled skies, 

The blue and lifted shore, 
Braid with their dim and blending dyes 

Our wide horizon o'er. 



190 HOLMES' POEMS 

And who will leave the grave debate 25 

That shakes the smoky town, 
To rule amid our island-state, 

And wear our oak-leaf crown ? 
And who will be awhile content 

To hunt our woodland game, 30 

And leave the vulgar pack that scent 

The reeking track of fame ? 

Ah, who that shares in toils like these 

Will sigh not to prolong 
Our days beneath the broad-leaved trees 35 

Our nights of mirth and song ? 
Then leave the dust of noisy streets, 

Ye outlaws of the wood, 
And follow through his green retreats 

Your noble Robin Hood. 40 



DEPARTED DAYS 

Yes, dear departed, cherished days, 

Could Memory's hand restore 
Your morning light, your evening rays 

From Time's gray urn once more, — 
Then might this restless heart be still, 

This straining eye might close, 
And Hope her fainting pinions fold, 

While the fair phantoms rose. 



THE ONLY DAUGHTER 191 

But, like a child in ocean's arms, 

We strive against the stream, 10 

Each moment farther from the shore 

Where life's young fountains gleam; — 
Each moment fainter wave the fields, 

And wider rolls the sea ; 
The mist grows dark, — the sun goes down, — 15 

Day breaks, — and where are we? 

THE ONLY DAUGHTER 

ILLUSTRATION OF A PICTURE 

They bid me strike the idle strings, 

As if my summer days 
Had shaken sunbeams from their wings 

To warm my autumn lays ; 
They bring to me their painted urn, 5 

As if it were not time 
To lift my gauntlet and to spurn 

The lists of boyish rhyme ; 
And, were it not that I have still 

Some weakness in my heart 10 

That clings around my stronger will 

And pleads for gentler art, 
Perchance I had not turned away 

The thoughts grown tame with toil, 
To cheat this lone and pallid ray, 15 

That wastes the midnight oil. 



192 HOLMES' POEMS 

Alas ! with every year I feel 

Some roses leave my brow; 
Too young for wisdom's tardy seal, 

Too old for garlands now; 20 

Yet, while the dewy breath of spring 

Steals o'er the tingling air, 
And spreads and fans each emerald wing 

The forest soon shall wear, 
How bright the opening year would seem, 25 

Had I one look like thine, 
To meet me when the morning beam 

Unseals these lids of mine ! 
Too long I bear this lonely lot, 

That bids my heart run wild 30 

To press the lips that love me not, 

To clasp the stranger's child. 

How oft beyond the dashing seas, 

Amidst those royal bowers, 
Where danced the lilacs in the breeze, 35 

And swung the chestnut-flowers, 
I wandered like a wearied slave 

Whose morning task is done, 
To watch the little hands that gave 

Their whiteness to the sun ; 40 

To revel in the bright young eyes, 

Whose lustre sparkled through 
The sable fringe of Southern skies 

Or gleamed in Saxon blu^ 1 



THE ONLY DAUGHTER 193 

How oft I heard another's name 45 

Called in some truant's tone; 
Sweet accents ! which I longed to claim, 

To learn and lisp my own ! 

Too soon the gentle hands, that pressed 

The ringlets of the child, 50 

Are folded on the faithful breast 

Where first he breathed and smiled; 
Too oft the clinging arms untwine, 

The melting lips forget, 
And darkness veils the bridal shrine 55 

Where wreaths and torches met; 
If Heaven but leaves a single thread 

Of Hope's dissolving chain, 
Even when her parting plumes are spread, 

It bids them fold again ; 60 

The cradle rocks beside the tomb ; 

The cheek now changed and chill 
Smiles on us in the morning bloom 

Of one that loves us still. 

Sweet image ! I have done thee wrong 65 

To claim this destined lay; 
The leaf that asked an idle song 

Must bear my tears away. 
Yet, in thy memory shouldst thou keep 

This else forgotten strain, 70 



194 HOLMES' POEMS 

Till years have taught thine eyes to weep, 

And flattery's voice is vain; 
O then, thou fledgling of the nest, 

Like the long-wandering dove, 
Thy weary heart may faint for rest, 75 

As mine, on changeless love ; 
And while these sculptured lines retrace 

The hours now dancing by, 
This vision of thy girlish grace 

May cost thee, too, a sigh. 80 

SUN AND SHADOW 

As I look from the isle, o'er its billows of green, 

To the billows of foam-crested blue, 
Yon bark, that afar in the distance is seen, 

Half dreaming, my eyes will pursue : 
Now dark in the shadow, she scatters the spray 5 

As the chaff in the stroke of the flail ; 
Now white as the sea-gull, she flies on her way, 

The sun gleaming bright on her sail. 

Yet her pilot is thinking of dangers to shun, — 

Of breakers that whiten and roar; 10 

How little he cares, if in shadow or sun 
They see him who gaze from the shore ! 

He looks to the beacon that looms from the reef, 
To the rock that is under his lee, 



THE TWO ARMIES 195 

As he drifts on the blast, like a wind-wafted leaf, 15 
O'er the gulfs of the desolate sea. 

Thus drifting afar to the dim-vaulted caves 

Where life and its ventures are laid, 
The dreamers who gaze while we battle the waves 

May see us in sunshine or shade ; 20 

Yet true to our course, though the shadows grow dark, 

We'll trim our broad sail as before, 
And stand by the rudder that governs the bark, 

Nor ask how we look from the shore ! 



THE TWO ARMIES 

As Life's unending column pours, 
Two marshalled hosts are seen, — 

Two armies on the trampled shores 
That Death flows black between. 

One marches to the drum-beat's roll, 
The wide-mouthed clarion's bray, 

And bears upon a crimson scroll, 
"Our glory is to slay." 

One moves in silence by the stream, 
With sad, yet watchful eyes, 

Calm as the patient planet's gleam 
That walks the clouded skies. 



196 HOLMES' POEMS 

Along its front no sabres shine, 

No blood-red pennons wave; 
Its banner bears the single line, 15 

"Our duty is to save." 

For those no death-bed's lingering shade; 

At Honor's trumpet-call, 
With knitted brow and lifted blade 

In Glory's arms they fall. 20 

For these no clashing falchions bright, 

No stirring battle-cry; 
The bloodless stabber calls by night, — 

Each answers, " Here am I !" 

For those the sculptor's laurelled bust, 25 

The builder's marble piles, 
The anthems pealing o'er their dust 

Through long cathedral aisles. 

For these the blossom-sprinkled turf 

That floods the lonely graves 30 

When Spring rolls in her sea-green surf 

In flowery-foaming waves. 

Two paths lead upward from below, 

And angels wait above, 
Who count each burning life-drop's flow, 35 

Each falling tear of Love. 



MUSA 197 

Though from the Hero's bleeding breast 

Her pulses Freedom drew, 
Though the white lilies in her crest 

Sprang from that scarlet dew, — 4 o 

While Valor's haughty champions wait 

Till all their scars are shown, 
Love walks unchallenged through the gate, 

To sit beside the Throne ! 



MUSA 

my lost beauty ! — hast thou folded quite 

Thy wings of morning light 

Beyond those iron gates 
Where Life crowds hurrying to the haggard Fates, 
And Age upon his mound of ashes waits 5 

To chill our fiery dreams, 
Hot from the heart of youth plunged in his icy streams ? 

Leave me not fading in these weeds of care, 

Whose flowers are silvered hair ! 

Have I not loved thee long, io 

Though my young lips have often done thee wrong, 
And vexed thy heaven-tuned ear with careless song ? 

Ah, wilt thou yet return, 
Bearing thy rose-hued torch, and bid thine altar burn ? 



198 HOLMES* POEMS 

Come to me! — I will flood thy silent shrine 15 

With my soul's sacred wine, 

And heap thy marble floors 
As the wild spice-trees waste their fragrant stores, 
In leafy islands walled with madrepores 

And lapped in Orient seas, 20 

When all their feathery palms toss, plume-like, in the 
breeze. 



Come to me! — thou shalt feed on honeyed words, 

Sweeter than song of birds; — 

No wailing bulbul's throat, 
No melting dulcimer's melodious note 25 

When o'er the midnight wave its murmurs float, 

Thy ravished sense might soothe 
With flow so liquid-soft, with strain so velvet-smooth. 



Thou shalt be decked with jewels, like a queen, 

Sought in those bowers of green 30 

Where loop the clustered vines 

And the close-clinging dulcamara twines, — 

Pure pearls of Maydew where the moonlight shines, 
And Summer's fruited gems, 

And coral pendants shorn from Autumn's berried 
stems. 35 



MUSA 199 

Sit by me drifting on the sleepy waves,— 

Or stretched by grass-grown graves, 

Whose gray, high-shouldered stones, 
Carved with old names Life's time-worn roll disowns, 
Lean, lichen-spotted, o'er the crumbled bones 40 

Still slumbering where they lay 
While the sad Pilgrim watched to scare the wolf away. 



Spread o'er my couch thy visionary wing ! 

Still let me dream and sing, — 

Dream of that winding shore 45 

Where scarlet cardinals bloom — for me no more, — 
The stream with heaven beneath its liquid floor, 

And clustering nenuphars 
Sprinkling its mirrored blue like golden-chaliced stars ! 



Come while their balms the linden-blossoms shed ! — 50 

Come while the rose is red, — 

While blue-eyed Summer smiles 
On the green ripples round yon sunken piles 
Washed by the moon-wave warm from Indian isles, 

And on the sultry air 55 

The chestnuts spread their palms like holy men in 
prayer ! 



200 HOLMES' POEMS 

O for thy burning lips to fire my brain 
With thrills of wild, sweet pain ! — 
On life's autumnal blast, 
Like shrivelled leaves, youth's passion-flowers are 
cast, — 60 

Once loving thee, we love thee to the last ! — 

Behold thy new-decked shrine, 
And hear once more the voice that breathed " Forever 
thine!" 



FROM A BACHELOR'S PRIVATE JOURNAL 

Sweet Mary, I have never breathed 

The love it were in vain to name; 
Though round my heart a serpent wreathed, 

I smiled, or strove to smile, the same. 

Once more the pulse of Nature glows 

With faster throb and fresher fire, 
While music round her pathway flows 

Like echoes from a hidden lyre. 

And is there none with me to share 

The glories of the earth and sky? 1 

The eagle through the pathless air 

Is followed by one burning eye. 



STANZAS 201 

Ah, no ! the cradled flowers may wake, 

Again may flow the frozen sea, 
From every cloud a star may break, — 15 

There comes no second Spring to me. 

Go, — ere the painted toys of youth 

Are crushed beneath the tread of years; 

Ere visions have been chilled to truth, 

And hopes are washed away in tears. 20 

Go, — for I will not bid thee weep, — 

Too soon my sorrows will be thine, 
And evening's troubled air shall sweep 

The incense from the broken shrine. 

If Heaven can hear the dying tone 25 

Of chords that soon will cease to thrill, 

The prayer that Heaven has heard alone, 
May bless thee when those chords are still. 



STANZAS 

Strange ! that one lightly- whispered tone 

Is far, far sweeter unto me 
Than all the sounds that kiss the earth, 

Or breathe along the sea ; 
But, lady, when thy voice I greet, 
Not heavenly music seems so sweet. 



202 HOLMES' POEMS 

I look upon the fair blue skies, 

And nought but empty air I see; 
But when I turn me to thine eyes, 

It seemeth unto me 10 

Ten thousand angels spread their wings 
Within those little azure rings. 

The lily hath the softest leaf 

That every western breeze hath fanned, 

But thou shalt have the tender flower, 15 

So I may take thy hand ; 

That little hand to me doth yield 

More joy than all the broidered fields 

O lady ! there be many things 

That seem right fair, below, above; 20 

But sure not one among them all 

Is half so sweet as love; — 
Let us not pay our vows alone, 
But join two altars both in one. 



THE PHILOSOPHER TO HIS LOVE 203 

THE PHILOSOPHER TO HIS LOVE 

Dearest, a look is but a ray 

Reflected in a certain way; 

A word, whatever tone it wear, 

Is but a trembling wave of air; 

A touch, obedience to a clause 5 

In nature's pure material laws. 

The very flowers that bend and meet, 

In sweetening others, grow more sweet; 

The clouds by day, the stars by night, 

Inweave their floating locks of light; 10 

The rainbow, Heaven's own forehead's braid, 

Is but the embrace of sun and shade. 

How few that love us have we found ! 
How wide the world that girds them round ! 
Like mountain streams we meet and part, 15 

Each living in the other's heart, 
Our course unknown, our hope to be 
Yet mingled in the distant sea. 

But Ocean coils and heaves in vain, 

Bound in the subtle moonbeam's chain; 20 

And love and hope do but obey 

Some cold, capricious planet's ray, 

Which lights and leads the tide it charms, 

To Death's dark caves and icy arms. 



204 HOLMES' POEMS 

Alas !. one narrow line is drawn, 25 

That links our sunset with our dawn ; 

In mist and shade life's morning rose, 

And clouds are round it at its close; 

But ah ! no twilight beam ascends 

To whisper where that evening ends. 30 

Oh ! in the hour when I shall feel 

Those shadows round my senses steal, 

When gentle eyes are weeping o'er 

The clay that feels their tears no more, 

Then let thy spirit with me be, 35 

Or some sweet angel, likest thee ! 



THE STAR AND THE WATER-LILY 

The sun stepped down from his golden throne, 

And lay in the silent sea, 
And the Lily had folded her satin leaves, 

For a sleepy thing was she; 
What is the Lily dreaming of? 

Why crisp the waters blue ? 
See, see, she is lifting her varnished lid ! 

Her white leaves are glistening through ! 

The Rose is cooling his burning cheek 
In the lap of the breathless tide ; — 



THE STAR AND THE WATER-LILY 205 

The Lily hath sisters fresh and fair, 

That would lie by the Rose's side; 
He would love her better than all the rest, 

And he would be fond and true; — 
But the Lily unfolded her weary lids, 15 

And looked at the sky so blue. 

Remember, remember, thou silly one, 

How fast will thy Summer glide, 
And wilt thou wither a virgin pale, 

Or flourish a blooming bride ? 20 

"O the Rose is old, and thorny, and cold, 

And he lives on earth," said she; 
"But the Star is fair and he lives in the air, 

And he shall my bridegroom be." 

But what if the stormy cloud should come, 25 

And ruffle the silver sea ? 
Would he turn his eye from the distant sky, 

To smile on a thing like thee ? 
O no, fair Lily, he will not send 

One ray from his far-off throne ; 30 

The winds shall blow and the waves shall flow, 

And thou wilt be left alone. 

There is not a leaf on the mountain top, 

Nor a drop of evening dew, 
Nor a golden sand on the sparkling shore, 35 

Nor a pearl in the waters blue, 



206 HOLMES' POEMS 

That he has not cheered with his fickle smile, 
And warmed with his faithless beam, — 

And will he be true to a pallid flower, 

That floats on the quiet stream ? 4 o 

Alas for the Lily ! she would not heed, 

But turned to the skies afar, 
And bared her breast to the trembling ray 

That shot from the rising star; 
The cloud came over the darkened sky, 45 

And over the waters wide : 
She looked in vain through the beating rain, 

And sank in the stormy tide. 



TO A CAGED LION 

Poor conquered monarch ! though that haughty glance 
Still speaks thy courage unsubdued by time, 

And in the grandeur of thy sullen tread 

Lives the proud spirit of thy burning clime;- — 

Fettered by things that shudder at thy roar, 5 

Torn from thy pathless wilds to pace this narrow 
floor! 

Thou wast the victor, and all nature shrunk 
Before the thunders of thine awful wrath; 

The steel-armed hunter viewed thee from afar, 

Fearless and trackless in thy lonely path ! 10 



A GOOD TIME GOING 207 

The famished tiger closed his flaming eye, 
And crouched and panted as thy step went by ! 

Thou art the vanquished, and insulting man 
Bars thy broad bosom as a sparrow's wing; 

His nerveless arms thine iron sinews bind, 35 

And lead in chains the desert's fallen king; 

Are these the beings that have dared to twine 

Their feeble threads around those limbs of thine ? 

So must it be ; the weaker, wiser race, 

That wields the tempest and that rides the sea, 20 
Even in the stillness of thy solitude 

Must teach the lesson of its power to thee; 
And thou, the terror of the trembling wild, 
Must bow thy savage strength, the mockery of a child ! 



°A GOOD TIME GOING! 

Brave singer of the coming time, 

Sweet minstrel of the joyous present, 
Crowned with the noblest wreath of rhyme, 

The holly-leaf of °Ayrshire ? s peasant, 
Good by ! Good by ! — Our hearts and hands, 

Our lips in honest Saxon phrases, 
Cry, God be with him, till he stands 

His feet among the English daisies ! 



208 HOLMES' POEMS 

'Tis here we part ; — for other eyes 

The busy deck, the fluttering streamer, 10 

The dripping arms that plunge and rise, 

The waves in foam, the ship in tremor, 
The kerchiefs waving from the pier, 

The cloudy pillar gliding o'er him, 
The deep blue desert, lone and drear, 15 

With heaven above and home before him ! 

His home ! — the Western giant smiles, 

And twirls the spotty globe to find it; — 
This little speck the British Isles ? 

Tis but a freckle, — never mind it ! 20 

He laughs and all his prairies roll, 

Each gurgling cataract roars and chuckles, 
And ridges stretched from pole to pole 

Heave till they crack their iron knuckles ! 

But Memory blushes at the sneer, 25 

And Honor turns with frown defiant, 
.And Freedom, leaning on her spear, 

Laughs louder than the laughing giant : 
"An islet is a world/' she said, 

"When glory with its dust has blended, 30 

And Britain keeps her noble dead 

Till earth and seas and skies are rended ! " 

Beneath each swinging forest-bough 
Some arm as stout in death reposes, — 



A GOOD TIME GOING 209 

From wave-washed foot to heaven-kissed brow 35 

Her valor's life-blood runs in roses ; 
Nay, let our brothers of the West 

Write smiling in their florid pages, 
One half her soil has walked the rest 
In the poets, heroes, martyrs, sages ! 40 

Hugged in the clinging billow's clasp, 

From sea-weed fringe to mountain heather, 
The British oak with rooted grasp 

Her slender handful holds together ; — 
With cliffs of white and bowers of green, 45 

And Ocean narrowing to caress her, 
And hills and threaded streams between, — 

Our little mother isle, God bless her ! 

In earth's broad temple where we stand, 

Fanned by the eastern gales that brought us, 50 
We hold the missal in our hand, 

Bright with the lines our Mother taught us : 
Where'er its blazoned page betrays 

The glistening links of gilded fetters, 
Behold the half-turned leaf displays ' 55 

Her rubric stained in crimson letters ! 

Enough ! To speed a parting friend 

? Tis vain alike to speak and listen; — 
Yet stay, — these feeble accents blend 

With rays of light from eyes that glisten. 60 



210 HOLMES" POEMS 

- Good by ! once more, — and kindly tell 

In words of peace the young world's story ,- 
And say, besides, we love too well 
Our mothers' soil, our fathers' glory ! 



°ROBINSON OF LEYDEN 

He sleeps not here ; in hope and prayer 
His wandering flock had gone before, 

But he, the shepherd, might not share 
Their sorrows on the wintry shore. 

Before the °Speed well's anchor swung, 5 

Ere yet the Mayflower's sail was spread, 

While round his feet the Pilgrims clung, 
The pastor spake, and thus he said: — 

"Men, brethren, sisters, children dear! 

God calls you hence from over sea ; 10 

Ye may not °build by Haerlem Meer, 

Nor yet along the Zuyder-Zee. 

" Ye go to bear the saving word 

To tribes unnamed and shores untrod : 

Heed well the lessons ye have heard 15 

From those old teachers taught of God. 



ROBINSON OF LEYDEN 211 

" Yet think not unto them was lent 

All light for all the coming days, 
And Heaven's eternal wisdom spent 

In making straight the ancient ways : 20 

"The living fountain overflows 

For every flock, for every lamb, 
Nor heeds, though angry creeds oppose 

With Luther's dike or Calvin's dam." 

He spake : with lingering, long embrace, 25 

With tears of love and partings fond, 

They floated down °the creeping Maas, 
Along the isle of Ysselmond. 

They passed the frowning towers of °Briel, 

The "Hook of Holland's " shelf of sand, 30 

And grated soon with lifting keel 
The sullen shores of Fatherland. 

No home for these ! — too well they knew 
The mitred king behind the throne; — 

The sails were set, the pennons flew, 35 

And westward ho ! for worlds unknown. 

— And these w T ere they who gave us birth, 

The Pilgrims of the sunset wave, 
Who won for us this virgin earth, 

And freedom with the soil they gave. 40 



212 HOLMES' POEMS 

The pastor slumbers by the Rhine, — 

In alien earth the exiles lie, — 
Their nameless graves our holiest shrine, 

His words our noblest battle-cry ! 

Still cry them, and the world shall hear, 45 

Ye dwellers by the storm-swept s»a ! 

Ye have not built by Haerlem Meer, 
Nor on the land-locked Zuyder-Zee ! 

THE CAMBRIDGE CHURCHYARD 

Our ancient church ! its lowly tower, 

Beneath the loftier spire, 
Is shadowed when the sunset hour 

Clothes the tall shaft in fire; 
It sinks beyond the distant eye, 5 

Long ere the glittering vane, 
High wheeling in the western sky, 

Has faded o'er the plain. 

Like Sentinel and Nun, they keep 

Their vigil on the green ; 10 

One seems to guard, and one to weep, 

The dead that lie between; 
And both roll out, so full and near, 

Their music's mingling waves, 
They shake the grass, whose pennoned spear 15 

Leans on the narrow graves. 



THE CAMBRIDGE CHURCHYARD 213 

The stranger parts the flaunting weeds, 

Whose seeds the winds have strown 
So thick beneath the line he reads, 

They shade the sculptured stone; 20 

The child unveils his clustered brow, 

And ponders for a while 
The graven willow's pendent bough, 

Or rudest cherub's smile. 

But what to them the dirge, the knell ? 25 

These were the mourner's share; — 
The sullen clang, whose heavy swell 

Throbbed through the beating air; — 
The rattling cord, — the rolling stone, — 

The shelving sand that slid, 30 

And, far beneath, with hollow tone, 

Rung on the coffin's lid. 

The slumberer's mound grows fresh and green, 

Then slowly disappears; 
The mosses creep, the gray stones lean, 35 

Earth hides his date and years ; 
But, long before the once-loved name 

Is sunk or worn away, 
No lip the silent dust may claim, 

That pressed the breathing clay. 40 

Go where the ancient pathway guides, 
See where our sires laid down 



214 HOLMES' POEMS 

Their smiling babes, their cherished brides, 

The patriarchs of the town ; 
Hast thou a tear for buried love ? 45 

A sigh for transient power? 
All that a century left above, 

Go, read it in an hour ! 

The Indian's shaft, the Briton's ball, 

The sabre's thirsting edge, 50 

The hot shell, shattering in its fall, 

The bayonet's rending wedge, — 
Here scattered death; yet, seek the spot, 

No trace thine eye can see, 
No altar, — and they need it not 55 

Who leave their children free ! 

Look where the turbid rain-drops stand 

In many a chiselled square, 
The knightly crest, the shield, the brand 

Of honored names were there; — 60 

Alas ! for every tear is dried 

Those blazoned tablets knew, 
Save when the icy marble's side 

Drips with the evening dew. 

Or gaze upon yon pillared stone, 65 

The empty urn of pride ; 
There stand the Goblet and the Sun, — 

What need of more beside ? 



THE CAMBRIDGE CHURCHYARD 215 

Where lives the memory of the dead, 

Who made their tomb a toy ? 70 

Whose ashes press that nameless bed ? 

Go, ask the village boy ! 

Lean o'er the slender western wall, 

Ye ever-roaming girls; 
The breath that bids the blossom fall 75 

May lift your floating curls, 
To sweep the simple lines that tell 

An exile's date and doom; 
And sigh, for where his daughters dwell, 

They wreathe the stranger's tomb. 80 

And one amid these shades was born, 

Beneath this turf who lies, 
Once beaming as the summer's morn, 

That closed her gentle eyes ; — 
If sinless angels love as we, 85 

Who stood thy grave beside, 
Three seraph welcomes waited thee, 

The daughter, sister, bride! 

I wandered to thy buried mound 

When earth was hid below 9 o 

The level of the glaring ground, 

Choked to its gates with snow, 
And when with summer's flowery waves 

The ^lake of verdure rolled, 



216 HOLMES' POEMS 

As if a Sultan's white-robed slaves 95 

Had scattered pearls and gold. 

Nay, the soft pinions of the air, 

That lift this trembling tone, 
Its breath of love may almost bear, 

To kiss thy funeral stone ; — 100 

And, now thy smiles have passed away, 

For all the joy they gave, 
May sweetest dews and warmest ray 

Lie on thine early grave ! 

When damps beneath, and storms above, 105 

Have bowed these fragile towers, 
Still o'er the graves yon locust-grove 

Shall swing its Orient flowers; — 
And I would ask no mouldering bust, 

If e'er this humble line, no 

Which breathed a sigh o'er other's dust, 

Might call a tear on mine. 



°A POEM 

Angel of Death ! extend thy silent reign ! 
Stretch thy dark sceptre o'er this new domain ! 
No sable car along the winding road 
Has borne to earth its unresisting load; 



A POEM 217 

No sudden mound has risen yet to show 5 

Where the pale slumberer folds his arms below ; 

No marble gleams to bid his memory live 

In the brief lines that hurrying Time can give ; 

Yet, O Destroyer ! from thy shrouded throne 

Look on our gift ; this realm is all thine own ! 10 

Fair is the scene ; its sweetness oft beguiled 

From their dim paths the children of the wild ; 

The dark-haired maiden loved its grassy dells, 

The feathered warrior claimed its wooded swells, 

Still on its slopes the ploughman's ridges show 15 

The pointed flints that left his fatal bow, 

Chipped with rough art and slow barbarian toil, — 

Last of his wrecks that strews the alien soil ! 

Here spread the fields that heaped their ripened 
store 
Till the brown arms of Labor held no more ; 20 

The scythe's broad meadow with its dusky blush 
The sickle's harvest with its velvet flush; 
The green-haired maize, her silken tresses laid, 
In soft luxuriance, on her harsh brocade; 
The gourd that swells beneath her tossing plume; 25 
The coarser wheat that rolls in lakes of bloom, — 
Its coral stems and milk-white flowers alive 
With the wide murmurs of the scattered hive ; 
Here glowed the apple with the pencilled streak 
Of morning painted on its southern cheek; 30 



218 HOLMES' POEMS 

The pear's long necklace strung with golden drops, 
Arched, like the banian, o'er its pillared props; 
Here crept the growths that paid the laborer's care 
With the cheap luxuries wealth consents to spare; 
Here sprang the healing herbs which could not save 35 
The hand that reared them from the neighboring grave. 

Yet all its varied charms, forever free 

From task and tribute, Labor yields to thee : 

No more, when April sheds her fitful rain, 

The sower's hand shall cast its flying grain; 40 

No more, when Autumn strews the flaming leaves, 

The reaper's band shall gird its yellow sheaves; 

For thee alike the circling seasons flow 

Till the first blossoms heave the latest snow. 

In the stiff clod below the whirling drifts, 45 

In the loose soil the springing herbage lifts, 

In the hot dust beneath the parching weeds, 

Life's withering flower shall drop its shrivelled seeds; 

Its germ entranced in thy unbreathing sleep 

Till what thou sowest mightier angels reap ! 50 

Spirit of Beauty ! let thy graces blend 

With loveliest Nature all that Art can lend. 

Come from the bowers where Summer's life-blood flows 

Through the red lips of June's half-open rose, 

Dressed in bright hues, the loving sunshine's dower; 55 

For tranquil Nature owns no mourning flower. 



A POEM 219 

Come from the forest where the beech's screen 
Bars the fierce noonbeam with its flakes of green ; 
Stay the rude axe that bares the shadowy plains, 
Stanch the deep wound that dries the maple's veins. 60 

Come with the stream whose silver-braided rills 
Fling their unclasping' bracelets from the hills, 
Till in one gleam, beneath the forest's wings, 
Melts the white glitter of a hundred springs. 

Come from the steeps where look majestic forth 65 
From their twin thrones the Giants of the North 
On the huge shapes, that, crouching at their knees, 
Stretch their broad shoulders, rough with shaggy 

trees. 
Through the wide waste of ether, not in vain, 
Their softened gaze shall reach our distant plain ; . 70 
There, while the mourner turns his aching eyes 
On the blue mounds that print the bluer skies, 
Nature shall whisper that the fading view 
Of mightiest grief may wear a heavenly hue. 

Cherub of Wisdom ! let thy marble page 75 

Leave its sad lesson, new to every age ; 

Teach us to live, not grudging every breath 

To the chill winds that waft us on to death, 

But ruling calmly every pulse it warms, 

And tempering gently every word it forms. 80 

Seraph of Love ! in heaven's adoring zone, 

Nearest of all around the central throne, 



220 HOLMES' POEMS 

While with soft hands the pillowed turf we spread 

That soon shall hold us in its dreamless bed, 

With the low whisper, — Who shall first be laid 85 

In the dark chamber's yet unbroken shade? — 

Let thy sweet radiance shine rekindled here, 

And all we cherish grow more truly dear. 

Here in the gates of Death's overhanging vault, 

O, teach us kindness for our brother's fault; 90 

Lay all our wrongs beneath this peaceful sod, 

And lead our hearts to Mercy and its God. 

Father of all ! in Death's relentless claim 

We read thy mercy by its sterner name ; 

In the bright flower that decks the solemn bier, 95 

We see thy glory in its narrowed sphere; 

In the deep lessons that affliction draws, 

We trace the curves of thy encircling laws; 

In the long sigh that sets our spirits free, 

We own the love that calls us back to Thee ! 100 

Through the hushed street, along the silent plain, 
The spectral future leads its mourning train, 
Dark with the shadows of uncounted bands, 
Where man's white lips and woman's wringing hands 
Track the still burden, rolling slow before, 105 

That love and kindness can protect no more ; 
The smiling babe that, called to mortal strife, 
Shuts its meek eyes and drops its little life; 



TO AN ENGLISH FRIEND 221 

The drooping child who prays in vain to live, 

And pleads for help its parent cannot give; no 

The pride of beauty stricken in its flower; 

The strength of manhood broken in an hour; 

Age in its weakness, bowed by toil and care, 

Traced in sad lines beneath its silvered hair. 

The sun shall set, and heaven's resplendent spheres 115 
Gild the smooth turf unhallowed yet by tears, 
But ah ! how soon the evening stars will shed 
Their sleepless light around the slumbering dead ! 

Take them, O Father, in immortal trust ! 
Ashes to ashes, dust to kindred dust, 120 

Till the last angel rolls the stone away, 
And a new morning brings eternal day ! 



TO AN ENGLISH FRIEND 

The seed that wasteful autumn cast 
To waver on its stormy blast, 
Long o'er the wintry desert tost, 
Its living germ has never lost. 
Dropped by the weary tempest's wing, 
It feels the kindling ray of spring, 
And, starting from its dream of death, 
Pours on the air its perfumed breath. 



222 HOLMES' POEMS 

So, parted by the rolling flood, 

The love that springs from common blood 10 

Needs but a single sunlit hour 

Of mingling smiles to bud and flower; 

Unharmed its slumbering life has flown, 

From shore to shore, from zone to zone, 

Where summer's falling roses stain 15 

The tepid waves of °Pontchartrain, 

Or where the lichen creeps below 

°Katahdin's wreaths of whirling snow. 

Though fiery sun and stiffening cold 
May change the fair ancestral mould, 20 

No winter chills, no summer drains 
The life-blood drawn from English veins, 
Still bearing wheresoe'er it flows 
The love that with its fountain rose, 
Unchanged by space, unwronged by time, 25 
From age to age, from clime to clime ! 



°THE BELLS 

When o'er the street the morning peal is flung 
From yon tall belfry with the brazen tongue, 
Its wide vibrations, wafted by the gale, 
To each far listener tell a different tale. 



THE BELLS 223 

The sexton, stooping to the quivering floor 5 

Till the great caldron spills its brassy roar, 
Whirls the hot axle, counting, one by one, 
Each dull concussion, till his task is done. 

Toil's patient daughter, when the welcome note 
Clangs through the silence from the steeple's throat, 10 
Streams, a white unit, to the checkered street, 
Demure, but guessing whom she soon shall meet; 
The bell, responsive to her secret flame, 
With every note repeats her lover's name. 

The lover, tenant of the neighboring lane, 15 

Sighing, and fearing lest he sigh in vain, 
Hears the stern accents, as they come and go, 
Their only burden one despairing No ! 

Ocean's rough child, whom many a shore has known 
Ere homeward breezes swept him to his own, 20 

Starts at the echo as it circles round, 
A thousand memories kindling with the sound ; 
The early favorite's unforgotten charms, 
Whose blue initials stain his tawny arms; 
His first farewell, the flapping canvas spread, 25 

The seaward streamers crackling overhead, 
His kind, pale mother, not ashamed to weep 
Her first-born's bridal with the haggard deep, 
While the brave father stood with tearless eye, 
Smiling and choking with his last good-by. 30 

'Tis but a wave, whose spreading circle beats, 
With the same impulse, every nerve it meets, 



224 HOLMES' POEMS 

Yet who shall count the varied shapes that ride 
On the round surge of that aerial tide ! 

O child of earth ! If floating sounds like these 35 
Steal from thyself their power to wound or please, 
If here or there thy changing will inclines, 
As the bright zodiac shifts its rolling signs, 
Look at thy heart, and when its depths are known 
Then try thy brother's, judging by thine own, 40 

But keep thy wisdom to the narrower range, 
While its own standards are the sport of change, 
Nor count us rebels when we disobey 
The passing breath that holds thy passion's sway. 



NON-RESISTANCE 

Perhaps too far in these considerate days 
Has patience carried her submissive ways ; 
Wisdom has taught us to be calm and meek, 
To take one blow, and turn the other cheek ; 
It is not written what a man shall do, 5 

If the rude caitiff smite the other too ! 

Land of our fathers, in thine hour of need 
God help thee, guarded by the passive creed ! 
As the lone pilgrim trusts to beads and cowl, 
When through the forest rings the gray wolf's 
howl ; 10 



FOR THE BURNS CENTENNIAL CELEBRATION 225 

As the deep galleon trusts her gilded prow 

When the black corsair slants athwart her bow; 

As the poor pheasant, with his peaceful mien, 

Trusts to his feathers, shining golden-green, 

When the dark plumage with the crimson beak i 5 

Has rustled shadowy from its splintered peak ; 

So trust thy friends, whose babbling tongues would 

charm 
The lifted sabre from thy foeman's arm, 
Thy torches ready for the answering peal 
From bellowing fort and thunder-freighted keel ! 20 

FOR THE BURNS CENTENNIAL CELEBRATION 

His birthday. — Nay, we need not speak 

The name each heart is beating, — 
Each glistening eye and flushing cheek 

In light and flame repeating ! 

We come in one tumultuous tide, — 5 

One surge of wild emotion, — 
As crowding through the °Frith of Clyde 

Rolls in the Western Ocean; 

As when yon cloudless, quartered moon 

Hangs o'er each storied river, 10 

The swelling breasts of °Ayr and Doon 
With sea-green wavelets quiver. 

Q 



226 HOLMES' POEMS 

The century shrivels like a scroll, — . 

The past becomes the present, — 
And face to face, and soul to soul, 15 

We greet the monarch-peasant. 

While °Shenstone strained in feeble flights 

With °Corydon and Phillis, — 
While °Wolfe was climbing Abraham's heights 

To snatch the °Bourbon lilies, — 20 

Who heard the wailing infant's cry, 

The babe beneath the sheiling, 
Whose song to-night in every sky 

Will shake earth's starry ceiling, — 

Whose passion-breathing voice ascends 25' 

And floats like incense o'er us, 
Whose ringing lay of friendship blends 

With labor's anvil chorus ? 

We love him, not for sweetest song, 

Though never tone so tender; 30 

We love him, even in his wrong, — 

His wasteful self-surrender. 

We praise him, not for gifts divine, — 

His Muse was born of woman, — 
His manhood breathes in every line, — 35 

Was ever heart more human ? 



FOR THE BURNS CENTENNIAL CELEBRATION 227 

We love him, praise him, just for this : 

In every form and feature, 
Through wealth and want, through woe and bliss, 

He saw his fellow-creature ! 40 

No soul could sink beneath his love, — 

Not even angel blasted; 
No mortal power could soar above 

The pride that all outlasted ! 

Ay ! Heaven had set one living man 45 

Beyond the pedant's tether, — 
His virtues, frailties* He may scan, 

Who weighs them all together ! 

I fling my pebble on the cairn 

Of him, though dead, undying; 50 

Sweet Nature's nursling, bonniest bairn 

Beneath her daisies lying. 

The waning suns, the wasting globe, 

Shall spare the minstrel's story, — 
The centuries weave his purple robe, 55 

The mountain-mist of glory ! 



228 HOLMES' POEMS 



FOR THE MEETING OF THE BURNS CLUB 

The mountains glitter in the- snow 

A thousand leagues asunder; 
Yet here, amid the banquet's glow, 

I hear their voice of thunder; 
Each giant's ice-bound goblet clinks; $ 

A flowing stream is summoned ; 
°Wachusett to Ben Nevis drinks; 

Monadnock to Ben Lomond ! 

Though years have clipped the eagle's plume 

That crowmed the chieftain's bonnet, 10 

The sun still sees the heather bloom, 

The silver mists lie on it ; 
With tartan kilt and philibeg, 

What stride was ever bolder 
Than his who showed the naked leg 15 

Beneath the plaided shoulder ? 

The echoes sleep on °Cheviot's hills, 

That heard the bugles blowing 
When down their sides the crimson rills 

With mingled blood were flowing ; 20 

The hunts where gallant hearts were game, 

The slashing on the border, 
The raid that swooped with sword and flame, 

Give place to "law and order." 



FOR THE MEETING OF THE BURNS CLUB 229 

Not while the rocking steeples reel 25 

With midnight tocsins ringing, 
Not while the crashing war-notes peal, 

God sets his poets singing; 
The bird is silent in the night, 

Or shrieks a cry of warning 30 

While fluttering round the beacon-light, — 

But hear him greet the morning ! 

The lark of °Scotia's morning sky ! 

Whose voice may sing his praises ? 
With Heaven's own sunlight in his eye, 35 

He walked among the daisies, 
Till through the cloud of fortune's wrong 

He soared to fields of glory; 
But left his land her sweetest song 

And earth her saddest story. 40 

'Tis not the forts the builder piles 

That chain the earth together; 
The wedded crowns, the sister isles, 

Would laugh at such a tether; 
The kindling thought, the throbbing words, 45 

That set the pulses beating, 
Are stronger than the myriad swords 

Of mighty armies meeting. 

Thus while within the banquet glows, 

Without, the wild winds whistle, 50 



230 HOLMES' POEMS 

We drink a triple health, — °the Rose, 

The Shamrock, and the Thistle ! 
Their blended hues shall never fade 

Till War has hushed his cannon, — 
Close-twined as ocean-currents braid 55 

The Thames, the Clyde, the Shannon ! 



°ODE FOR WASHINGTON'S BIRTHDAY 

Welcome to the day returning, 

Dearer still as ages flow, 
While the torch of Faith is burning, 

Long as Freedom's altars glow! 
See the hero whom it gave us 

Slumbering on a mother's breast; 
For the arm he stretched to save us, 

Be its morn forever blest ! 

Hear the tale of youthful glory, 

While of Britain's rescued band 
Friend and foe repeat the story, 

Spread his fame o'er sea and land, 
Where the red cross, proudly streaming, 

Flaps above the frigate's deck, 
Where the golden lilies, gleaming, 

Star the watch-towers of Quebec. 



ODE FOR WASHINGTON'S BIRTHDAY 231 

Look ! The shadow on the dial 

Marks the hour of deadlier strife ; 
Days of terror, years of trial, 

Scourge a nation into life. 20 

Lo, the youth, become her leader ! 

All her baffled tyrants yield ; 
Through his arm the Lord hath freed her; 

Crown him on the tented field ! 

Vain is Empire's mad temptation ! 25 

Not for him an earthly crown ! 
He whose sword hath freed a nation ! 

Strikes the offered sceptre down. 
See the throneless Conqueror seated, 

Ruler by a people's choice; 30 

See the Patriot's task completed; 

Hear the Father's dying voice ! 

" By the name that you inherit, 

By the sufferings you recall, 
Cherish the fraternal spirit ; 35 

Love your country first of all ! 
Listen not to idle questions 

If its bands may be untied ; 
Doubt the patriot whose suggestions 

Strive a nation to divide !" 40 

Father ! We, whose ears have tingled 
With the discord-notes of shame, — 



232 HOLMES' POEMS 

We, whose sires their blood have mingled 
In the battle's thunder-flame, — 

Gathering, while this holy morning 45 

Lights the land from, sea to sea, 

Hear thy counsel, heed thy warning; 
Trust us, while we honor thee ! 



BIRTHDAY OF DANIEL WEBSTER 

When life hath run its largest round 

Of toil and triumph, joy and woe, 
How brief a storied page is found 

To compass all its outward show ! 

The world-tried sailor tires and droops; 5 

His flag is rent, his keel forgot; 
His farthest voyages seem but loops 

That float from life's entangled knot. 

But when within the narrow space 

Some larger soul hath lived and wrought, 10 

Whose sight was open to embrace 

The boundless realms of deed and thought, — 

When, stricken by the freezing blast, 

A nation's living pillars fall, 
How rich the storied page, how vast, 15 

A w T ord, a whisper, can recall ! 



BIRTHDAY OF DANIEL WEBSTER 233 

No medal lifts its fretted face, 

Nor speaking marble cheats your eye, 

Yet, while these pictured lines I trace, 

A living image passes by : 20 

A roof beneath the mountain pines; 

The cloisters of a hill-girt plain ; 
The front of life's embattled lines ; 

A mound beside the heaving main. 

These are the scenes : a boy appears ; 25 

Set life's round dial in the sun, 
Count the swift arc of seventy years, 

His frame is dust ; his task is done. 

Yet pause upon the noontide hour, 

Ere the declining sun has laid 30 

His bleaching rays on manhood's power, 

And look upon the mighty shade. 

No gloom that stately shape can hide, 
No change uncrown its brow; behold! 

Dark, calm, large-fronted, lightning-eyed, 35 

Earth has no double from its mould ! 

Ere from the fields by valor won 

The battle-smoke had rolled away, 
And bared the blood-red setting sun, 

His eyes were opened on the day. 40 



234 HOLMES' POEMS 

His land was but a shelving strip 

Black with the strife tfcat made it free ; 

He lived to see its banners dip 
Their fringes in the Western sea. 

The boundless prairies learned his name, 45 

His words the mountain echoes knew, 

The Northern breezes swept his fame 
From icy lake to warm bayou. 

In toil he lived; in peace he died; 

When life's full cycle was complete, 50 

Put off his robes of power and pride, 

And laid them at his Master's feet. 

His rest is by the storm-swept waves 
Whom life's wild tempests roughly tried, 

Whose heart was like the streaming caves 55 

Of ocean, throbbing at his side. 

Death's cold white hand is like the snow 

Laid softly on the furrowed hill, 
It hides the broken seams below, 

And leaves the summit brighter still. 60 

In vain the envious tongue upbraids; 

His name a nation's heart shall keep 
Till morning's latest sunlight fades 

On the blue tablet of the deep ! 



AFTER A LECTURE ON WORDSWORTH 235 



°AFTER A LECTURE ON WORDSWORTH 

Come, spread your wings, as I spread mine, 

And leave the crowded hall 
For where the eyes of twilight shine 

O'er evening's western wall. 

These are the pleasant °Berkshire hills, 5 

Each with its leafy crown; 
Hark ! from their sides a thousand rills 

Come singing sweetly down. 

A thousand °rills ; they leap and shine, 

Strained through the shadowy nooks, 10 

Till, clasped, in many a gathering twine, 
They swell a hundred brooks. 

A hundred brooks, and still they run 

With ripple, shade, and gleam, 
Till, clustering all their braids in one, 15 

They flow a single stream. 

A bracelet spun from mountain mist, 

A silvery sash unwound, 
With ox-bow curve and sinuous twist 

It writhes to reach the Sound. 20 

This is my bark, — a pygmy's ship; 
Beneath a child it rolls; 



236 HOLMES' POEMS 

Fear not, — one body makes it dip, 
But not a thousand souls. 

Float we the grassy banks between; 25 

Without an oar we glide; 
The meadows, drest in living green, 

Unroll on either side. 

— Come, take the book we love so well, 

And let us read and dream 30 

We see whate'er its pages tell, 
And sail an English stream. 

Up to the clouds the lark has sprung, 

Still trilling as he flies; 
The linnet sings as there he sung; 35 

The unseen cuckoo cries, 

And daisies strew the banks along, 

And yellow kingcups shine, 
With cowslips, and a primrose throng, 

And humble celandine. 40 

Ah foolish dream ! when Nature nursed 

Her daughter in the West, 
The fount was drained that opened first ; 

She bared her other breast. 

On the young planet's orient shore 45 

Her morning hand she tried; 



AFTER A LECTURE ON WORDSWORTH 237 

Then turned the broad medallion o'er 
And stamped the sunset side. 

Take what she gives, her pine's tall stem, 

Her elm with hanging spray ; 50 

She wears her mountain diadem 
Still in her own proud way. 

Look on the forests' ancient kings, 

The hemlock's towering pride: 
Yon trunk had thrice a hundred rings, 55 

And fell before it died. 

Nor think that Nature saves her bloom 

And slights our grassy plain ; 
For us she wears her court costume, — 

Look on its broidered train ; 60 

The lily with the sprinkled dots, 

Brands of the noontide beam ; 
The cardinal, and the blood-red spots, 

Its double in the stream, 

As if some wounded eagle's breast, 65 

Slow throbbing o'er the plain, 
Had left its airy path impressed 

In drops of scarlet rain. 

And hark ! and hark ! the woodland rings ; 

There thrilled the thrush's soul ; 70 



238 HOLMES' POEMS 

And look ! that flash of flamy wings, — 
The fire-plumed oriole ! 

Above, the hen-hawk swims and swoops, 

Flung from the bright, blue sky; 
Below, the robin hops, and whoops 75 

His piercing, Indian cry. 

Beauty runs virgin in the woods 

Robed in her rustic green, 
And oft a longing thought intrudes, 

As if we might have seen 80 

Her every finger's every joint 

Ringed with some golden line, 
Poet whom Nature did anoint ! 

Had our wild home been thine. 

Yet think not so; Old England's blood s$ 

Runs warm in English veins; 
But wafted o'er the icy flood 

Its better life remains : 

Our children know each wildwood smell, 

The bayberry and the fern, 90 

The man who does not know them well 
Is all too old to learn. 



Be patient ! On the breathing page 
Still pants our hurried past; 



AFTER A LECTURE ON MOORE 239 

Pilgrim and soldier, saint and sage, — 95 

. The poet comes the last ! 

Though still the lark-voiced matins ring 

The world has known so long; 
The wood-thrush of the West shall sing 

Earth's last sweet even-song ! 100 

°AFTER A LECTURE ON MOORE 

Shine soft, ye trembling tears of light 

That strew the mourning skies ; 
Hushed in the silent dews of night 

The °harp of Erin lies. 

What though her thousand years have past 5 

Of poets, saints, and kings, — 
Her echoes only hear the last 

That swept those golden strings. 

Fling o'er his mound, ye star-lit bowers, 

The balmiest wreaths ye wear, 10 

Whose breath has lent your earth-born flowers 
Heaven's own ambrosial air. 

Breathe, bird of night, thy softest tone, 

By shadowy grove and rill ; 
Thy song will soothe us while we own 15 

That his was sweeter still. 



240* HOLMES' POEMS 

Stay, pitying Time, thy foot for him 

Who gave thee swifter wings, 
Nor let thine envious shadow dim 

The light his glory flings. 20 

If in his cheek unholy blood 

Burned for one youthful hour, 
'Twas but the flushing of the bud 

That blooms a milk-white flower. 

Take him, kind mother, to thy breast/ 25 

Who loved thy smiles so well, 
And spread thy mantle o'er his rest 

Of rose and asphodel. 

— The bark has sailed the midnight sea, 

The sea without a shore, 30 

That waved its parting sign to thee, — 
" A health to thee, Tom Moore !" 

And thine, long lingering on the strand, 

Its bright-hued streamers furled, 
Was loosed by age, with trembling hand, 35 

To seek the silent world. 

Not silent ! no, the radiant stars 

Still singing as they shine, 
Unheard through earth's imprisoning bars, 

Have voices sweet as thine. 40 



AFTER A LECTURE ON KEATS 241 

Wake, then, in happier realms above, 

The songs of bygone years, 
Till angels learn those airs of love 

That ravished mortal ears ! 



° AFTER A LECTURE ON KEATS 

The °wreath that star-crowned Shelley gave 

Is lying on thy Roman grave, 

Yet on its turf young April sets 

Her store of slender violets ; 

Though all the Gods their garlands shower, 5 

I too may bring one purple flower. 

— Alas! what blossom shall I bring, 

That opens in my Northern spring ? 

The garden beds have all run wild, 

So trim when I was yet a child; to 

Flat plantains and unseemly stalks 

Have crept across the gravel walks ; 

The vines are dead, long, long ago, 

The almond buds no longer blow. 

No more upon its mound I see 15 

The azure, plume-bound fleur-de-lis; 

Where once the tulips used to show, 

In straggling tufts the pansies grow; 

The grass has quenched my white-rayed gem, 

The flowering "Star of Bethlehem, " 20 



242 HOLMES' POEMS 

Though its long blade of glossy green 

And pallid stripe may still be seen. 

Nature, who treads her nobles down, 

And gives their birthright to the clown, 

Has sown her base-born weedy things 25 

Above the garden's queens and kings. 

— Yet one sweet flower of ancient race 
Springs in the old familiar place. 

When snows were melting down the vale, - 

And Earth unlaced her icy mail, 30 

And March his stormy trumpet blew, 

And tender green came peeping through, 

I loved the earliest one to seek 

That broke the soil with emerald beak, 

And watch the trembling bells so blue 35 

Spread on the column as it grew. 

Meek child of earth ! thou wilt not shame 

The sweet, dead poet's holy name; 

The °God of music gave thee birth, 

Called from the crimson-spotted earth, 40 

Where, sobbing his young life away, 

His own fair Hyacinthus lay. 

— The hyacinth my garden gave 
Shall lie upon that Roman grave ! 



AFTER A LECTURE ON SHELLEY 243 



°AFTER A LECTURE ON SHELLEY 

One broad, white sail in °Spezzia's treacherous bay; 

On comes the blast; too daring bark, beware! 
The cloud has clasped her ; lo ! it melts away ; 

The wide, waste waters, but no sail is there. 

Morning: a woman looking on the sea; 5 

Midnight : with lamps the long veranda burns ; 

Come, wandering sail, they watch, they burn for thee ! 
Suns come and go, alas ! no bark returns. 

And feet are thronging on the pebbly sands, 

And torches flaring in the weedy caves, • 10 

Where'er the waters lay with icy hands 

The shapes uplifted from their coral graves. 

Vainly they seek; the idle quest is o'er; 

The coarse, dark women, with their hanging locks, 
And lean, wild children gather from the shore 15 

To the black hovels bedded in the rocks. 

But Love still prayed, with agonizing wail, 

" One, one last look, ye heaving waters, yield I" 

Till Ocean, clashing in his jointed mail, 

Raised the pale burden on his level shield. 20 

Slow from the shore the sullen waves retire; 
His form a nobler element shall claim; 






244 HOLMES' POEMS 

Nature baptized him in ethereal fire, 

And Death shall crown him with a wreath of flame. 

Fade, mortal semblance, never to return; 25 

Swift is the change within thy crimson shroud; 

Seal the white ashes in the peaceful urn; 
All else has risen in yon silvery cloud. 

Sleep where thy gentle °Adonais lies, 

Whose open page lay on thy dying heart, 30 

Both in the smile of those blue-vaulted skies, 

Earth's fairest dome of all divinest art. 

Breathe for his wandering soul one passing sigh, 
O happier Christian, while thine eye grows dim, — 

In all the mansions of the house on high, 35 

Say not that Mercy has not one for him ! 



°URANIA 

A RHYMED LESSON 

Yes, dear Enchantress, — wandering far and long, 
In realms unperfumed by the breath of song, 
Where flowers ill-flavored shed their sweets around, 
And bitterest roots invade the ungenial ground, 
Whose gems are ° crystals from the Epsom mine, 5 

Whose vineyards flow with °antimonial wine, 



URANIA 245 

Whose gates admit no mirthful feature in, 

Save one gaunt mocker, the °Sardonic grin, 

Whose pangs are real, not the woes of rhyme 

That blue-eyed misses warble out of time ; — 10 

Truant, not recreant to thy sacred claim, 

Older by reckoning, but in heart the same, 

Freed for a moment from the chains of toil, 

I tread once more thy consecrated soil ; 

Here at thy feet my old allegiance own, 15 

Thy subject still, and loyal to thy throne ! 

My dazzled glance explores the crowded hall; 
Alas, how vain to hope the smiles of all ! - 
I know my audience. 

All the gay and young 
Love the light antics of a playful tongue ; 20 

And these, remembering some expansive line 
My lips let loose among the nuts and wine, 
Are all impatience till the opening pun 
Proclaim the witty shamfight is begun. 
Two-fifths at least, if not the total half, 25 

Have come infuriate for an earthquake laugh; 
I know full well what alderman has tied 
His red bandanna tight about his side; 
I see the mother, who, aware that boys 
Perform their laughter with superfluous noise, 30 

Beside her kerchief, brought an extra one 
Tp stop the explosions of her bursting son; 



246 HOLMES' POEMS 

I know a tailor, once a friend of mine, 

Expects great doings in the button line ; — 

For mirth's concussions rip the outward case, 35 

And plant the stitches in a tenderer place. 

I know my audience ; — these shall have their due ; 

A smile awaits them ere my song is through ! 

I know myself. Not servile for applause, 
My Muse permits no deprecating clause; 40 

Modest or vain, she will not be denied 
One bold confession, due to honest pride, 
And well she knows, the drooping veil of song 
Shall save her boldness from the caviller's wrong. 
Her sweeter voice the °Heavenly Maid imparts 45 

To tell the secrets of our aching hearts; 
For this, a suppliant, captive, prostrate, bound, 
She kneels imploring at the feet of sound ; 
For this, convulsed in thought's maternal pains, 
She loads her arms with rhyme's resounding chains; 50 
Faint though the music of her fetters be, 
It lends one charm ; — her lips are ever free ! 

Think not I come, in manhood's fiery noon, 
To steal his laurels from the stage buffoon ; 
His sword of lath the harlequin may wield, 55 

Behold the star upon my lifted shield ! 
Though the just critic pass my humble name, 
And sweeter lips have drained the cup of fame, 



URANIA 247 

While my gay stanza pleased the banquet's lords, 
The soul within was tuned to deeper chords ! 60 

Say, shall my arms, in other conflicts taught 
To swing aloft the ponderous mace of thought, 
Lift, in obedience to a school-girl's law, 
.Mirth's tinsel wand or laughter's tickling straw. 

Say, shall I wound with satire's rankling spear 65 
The pure, warm hearts that bid me welcome here ? 
No ! while I wander through the land of dreams 
To strive with great and play with trifling themes, 
Let some kind meaning fill the varied line, 
You have your judgment; will you trust to mine? 70 



Between two breaths what crowded mysteries lie, — 
The first short gasp, the last and long-drawn sigh ! 
Like phantoms painted on the magic slide, 
Forth from the darkness of the past we glide, 
As living shadows for a moment seen 75 

In airy pageant on the eternal screen, 
Traced by a ray from one unchanging flame, 
Then seek the dust and stillness whence we came. 

But whence and why, our trembling souls inquire, 
Caught these dim visions their awakening fire ? 80 

O who forgets when first the piercing thought 
Through childhood's musings found its way unsought. 



248 HOLMES' POEMS 

I am; — I live. The mystery and the fear 

When the dread question — What has brought me 

here? 
Burst through life's twilight, as before the sun 85 

Roll the deep thunders of the morning gun ! 

Are angel faces, silent and serene, 
Bent on the conflicts of this little scene, 
Whose dreamlike efforts, whose unreal strife, 
Are but the preludes to a larger life ? 90 

Or does life's summer see the end of all, 
These leaves of being mouldering as they fall 
°As the old poet vaguely used to deem, 
As Wesley questioned in his youthful dream ? 
O could such mockery reach our souls indeed, 95 

Give back the °Pharaohs' or the Athenian's creed; 
Better than this a Heaven of man's device, — 
The Indian's sports, the °Moslem's paradise ! 

Or is our being's only end and aim 
To add new glories to our Maker's name, 100 

As the poor insect, shrivelling in the blaze, 
Lends a faint sparkle to its streaming rays ? 
Does earth send upwards to the Eternal's ear 
The mingled discords of her jarring sphere 
To swell his anthem, while Creation rings 105 

With notes of anguish from the shattered strings ? 



URANIA 249 

Is it for this the immortal Artist means 

These conscious, throbbing, agonized machines ? 

Dark is the soul whose sullen creed can bind 
In chains like these the all-embracing Mind; no 

No ! two-faced bigot, thou dost ill reprove 
The sensual, selfish, yet benignant °Jove, 
And praise a tyrant throned in lonely pride, 
Who loves himself, and cares for nought beside ; 
Who gave thee, summoned from primeval night, 115 
A thousand laws, and not a single right ; 
A heart to feel and quivering nerves to thrill, 
The sense of wrong, the death-defying will ; 
Who girt thy senses with this goodly frame, 
Its earthly glories and its orbs of flame, 120 

Not for thyself, unworthy of a thought, 
Poor helpless victim of a life unsought, 
But all for him, unchanging and supreme, 
The heartless center of thy frozen scheme ! 

Trust not the teacher with his lying scroll, 125 

Who tears the charter of thy shuddering soul ; 
The God of love, who gave the breath that warms 
All living -dust in all its varied forms, 
Asks not the tribute of a world like this 
To fill the measure of his perfect bliss. 130 

Though winged with life through all its radiant shores. 
Creation flowed with unexhausted stores 



250 HOLMES 9 POEMS 

Cherub and seraph had not yet enjoyed; 

For this he called thee from the quickening void ! 

Nor this alone; a larger gift was thine, 135 

A mightier purpose swelled his vast design ; 

Thought, — conscience, — will, — to make them all 

thine own, 
He rent a pillar from the eternal throne ! 

Made in his image, thou must nobly dare 
The thorny crown of sovereignty to share. 140 

With eye uplifted it is thine to view, 
From thine own center, Heaven's o'erarching blue; 
So round thy heart a beaming circle lies 
No fiend can blot, no hypocrite disguise : 
From all its orbs one cheering voice is heard, 145 

Full to thine ear it bears the Father's word, 
Now, as in Eden, where his first-born trod : 
"Seek thine own welfare, true to man and God!" 

Think not too meanly of thy low estate ; 
Thou hast a choice ; to choose is to create ! 150 

Remember whose the sacred lips that tell, 
Angels approve thee when thy choice is well ; 
Remember, One, a judge of righteous men, 
Swore to spare Sodom if she held but ten ! 
Use well the freedom which thy Master gave, 155 

(Think'st thou that Heaven can tolerate a slave ?) 
And He who made thee to be just and true 
Will bless thee, love thee, — ay, respect thee, too ! 



URANIA 251 

Nature has placed thee on a changeful tide, 
To breast its waves/ but not without a guide, 160 

Yet, as the needle will forget its aim, 
Jarred by the fury of the electric flame, 
As the true current it will falsely feel, 
Warped from its axis by a freight of steel ; 
So will thy conscience lose its balanced truth, 165 

If passion's lightning fall upon thy youth; 
So the pure effluence quits its sacred hold, 
Girt round too deeply with magnetic gold. 

Go to yon tower, where busy science plies 
Her vast antenme, feeling through the skies; 170 

That little vernier on whose slender lines 
The midnight taper trembles as it shines, 
A silent index, tracks the planet's march 
In all their wanderings through the ethereal arch, 
Tells through the mist where dazzled Mercury 

burns, 175 

And marks the spot where Uranus returns. 

So, till by wrong or negligence effaced, 
The living index which thy Maker traced 
Repeats the line each starry Virtue draws 
Through the wide circuit of creation's laws; 180 

Still tracks unchanged the everlasting ray 
Where the dark shadows of temptation stray; 
But once defaced, forgets the orbs of light, 
And leaves thee wandering o'er the expanse of 
night ! 



252 HOLMES' POEMS 

"What is thy creed ?" a hundred lips inquire; 185 
"Thou seekest God beneath what Christian spire ?" 
Nor ask they idly, for uncounted lies 
Float upward on the smoke of sacrifice; 
When man's first incense rose above the plain, 
Of earth's two altars, one was built by Cain ! 190 

Uncursed by doubt, our earliest creed we take; 
We love the precepts for the teacher's sake ; 
The simple lessons which the nursery taught 
Fell soft and stainless on the buds of thought, 
And the full blossom owes its fairest hue 195 

To those sweet tear-drops of affection's dew, 

Too oft the light that led our earlier hours 
Fades with the perfume of our cradle flowers ; 
The clear, cold question chills to frozen doubt ; 
Tired of beliefs, we dread to live without; 200 

then, if reason waver at thy side, 
Let humbler Memory be thy gentle guide ; 
Go to thy birth-place, and, if faith was there, 
Repeat thy father's creed, thy mother's prayer ! 

Faith loves to lean on Time's destroying arm, 205 
And age, like distance, lends a double charm; 
In dim cathedrals, dark with vaulted gloom, 
What holy awe invests the saintly tomb ! 
There pride will bow, and anxious care expand, 
And creeping avarice come with open hand ; 210 

The gay can weep, the impious can adore, 
From morn's first glimmerings on the chancel floor 



URANIA 253 

Till dying sunset sheds his crimson stains 
Through the faint halos of the irised panes. 

Yet there are graves, whose rudely-shapen sod 215 
Bears the fresh footprints where the sexton trod ; 
Graves where the verdure has not dared to shoot, 
Where the chance wild-flower has not fixed its root, 
Whose slumbering tenants, dead without a name, 
The eternal record shall at length proclaim 220 

Pure as the holiest in the long array 
Of hooded, mitred, or tiaraed clay ! 

Come, geek the air; some pictures we may gain 
Whose passing shadows shall not be in vain ; 
Not from the scenes that crowd the stranger's soil, 225 
Not from our own midst the stir of toil, 
But when the Sabbath brings its kind release, 
And Care lies slumbering on the lap of Peace. 

The air is hushed ; the street is holy ground ; 
Hark ! The sweet bells renew their welcome sound; 230 
As one by one awakes each silent tongue, 
It tells the turret whence its voice is flung. 

The Chapel, last of sublunary things 
That shocks our echoes with the name of Kings, 
Whose bell, just glistening from the font and forge, 235 
Rolled its proud requiem for the second George, 
Solemn and swelling, as of old it rang, 
Flings to the wind its deep, sonorous clang; — 



254 HOLMES' POEMS 

°The simpler pile, that, mindful of the hour 

When Howe's artillery shook its half-built tower, 240 

Wears on its bosom, as a bride might do, 

The iron breastpin which the "Rebels" threw, 

Wakes the sharp echoes with the quivering thrill 

Of keen vibrations, tremulous and shrill ; — 

Aloft, suspended in the morning's fire, 245 

Crash the vast cymbals from °the Southern spire; — 

The Giant, standing by the elm-clad green, 

His white lance lifted o'er the silent scene, 

Whirling in air his brazen goblet round, 

Swings from its brim the swollen floods of sound ; — 250 

While, sad with memories of the olden time, 

°The Northern Minstrel pours her tender chime 

Faint, single tones, that spell their ancient song, 

But tears still follow as they breathe along. 

Child of the soil, whom fortune sends to range 255 
Where man and nature, faith and customs change, 
Borne in thy memory, each familiar tone 
Mourns on the winds that sigh in every zone. 
When ° Ceylon sweeps thee with her perfumed 

breeze 
Through the warm billows of the Indian seas; 260 

When, — ship and shadow blended both in one, 
Flames o'er thy mast the equatorial sun, 
From sparkling midnight to refulgent noon 
Thy canvas swelling with the still monsoon ; 



URANIA 255 

When through thy shrouds the wild tornado sings, 265 

And thy poor seabird folds her tattered wings, 

Oft will delusion o'er thy senses steal, 

And airy echoes ring the Sabbath peal ! 

Then, dim with grateful tears, in long array 

Rise the fair town, the island-studded bay, 270 

Home, with its smiling board, its cheering fire, 

The half-choked welcome of the expecting sire, 

The mother's kiss, and, still if aught remain, 

Our whispering hearts shall aid the silent strain. — 

Ah, let the dreamer o'er the taffrail lean 275 

To muse unheeded, and to weep unseen; 
Fear not the tropic's dews, the evening's chills, 
His heart lies warm among his triple hills ! 

Turned from her path by this deceitful gleam, 
My wayward fancy half forgets her theme ; 280 

See through the streets that slumbered in repose 
The living current of devotion flows ; 
Its varied forms in one harmonious band, 
Age leading childhood by its dimpled hand, 
Want, in the robe whose faded edges fall 285 

To tell of rags beneath the tartan shawl, 
And wealth, in silks that, fluttering to appear, 
Lift the deep borders of the proud cashmere. 

See, but glance briefly, sorrow-worn and pale, 
Those sunken cheeks beneath the widow's veil; 290 



256 HOLMES' POEMS 

Alone she wanders where with him she trod 
No arm to stay her, but she leans o-n God. 

While other doublets deviate here and there, 
What secret handcuff binds that pretty pair ? 
Compactest couple ! pressing side to side, — 295 

Ah, the white bonnet that reveals the bride ! 

By the white neckcloth, with its straitened tie, 
The sober hat, the Sabbath-speaking eye, 
Severe and smileless, he that runs may read 
°The stern disciple of Geneva's creed; 300 

Decent and slow, behold his solemn march. 
Silent he enters through yon crowded arch. 

A livelier bearing of the outward man, 
The light-hued gloves, the undevout rattan, 
Now smartly raised or half-profanely twirled — 305 

A bright, fresh twinkle from the week-day world, — 
Tell their plain story; — yes, thine eyes behold 
A cheerful Christian from the liberal fold. 

Down the chill street that curves in gloomiest shade 
What marks betray yon solitary maid? 310 

The cheek's red rose, that speaks of balmier air; 
°The Celtic blackness of her braided hair; 
The gilded missal in her kerchief tied; 
Poor Nora, exile from °Killarney , s side ! 

Sister in toil, though blanched by colder skies, 315 
That left their azure in her downcast eyes, 



URANIA 257 

See pallid Margaret, Labor's patient child, 

Scarce weaned from home, the nursling of the wild 

Where white °Katahdin o'er the horizon shines, 

And broad Penobscot dashes through the pines; 32c 

Still, as she hastes, her careful fingers hold 

The unfailing hymn-book in its cambric fold. 

Six days at drudgery's heavy wheel she stands, 

The seventh sweet morning folds her weary hands ; 

Yes, child of suffering, thou may'st well be sure 325 

He who ordained the Sabbath loves the poor ! 

This weekly picture faithful memory draws, 
Nor claims the noisy tribute of applause ; 
Faint is the glow such barren hopes can lend, 
And frail the line that asks no loftier end. 330 

Trust me, kind listener, I will yet beguile 
Thy saddened features of the promised smile; 
This magic mantle thou must well divide, 
It has its sable and its ermine side; 
Yet, ere the lining of the robe appears, 335 

Take thou in silence, what I give in tears. 

Dear listening soul, this transitory scene 
Of murmuring stillness, busily serene ; 
This solemn pause, the breathing-space of man 
The halt of toil's exhausted caravan, 340 

Comes sweet with music to thy wearied ear; 
Rise with its. anthems to a holier sphere ! 



258 HOLMES' POEMS 

Deal meekly, gently, with the hopes that guide 
The lowliest brother straying from thy side; 
If right, they bid thee tremble for thine own, 345 

If wrong, the verdict is for God alone ! 

What though the champions of thy faith esteem 
The sprinkled fountain or baptismal stream ; 
Shall jealous passions in unseemly strife 
Cross their dark weapons o'er the waves of life ? 350 

Let my free soul, expanding as it can, 
Leave to his scheme the thoughtful Puritan; 
But Calvin's dogma shall my lips deride ? 
In that stern faith my angel Mary died ; — 
Or ask if mercy's milder creed can save, 355 

Sweet sister, risen from thy new-made grave ? 

True, the harsh founders of thy church reviled 
That ancient faith, the trust of Erin's child ; 
Must thou be raking in the crumbled past 
For racks and fagots in her teeth to cast ? 360 

See from the °ashes of Helvetia's pile 
The whitened skull of old Servetus smile ! 

Round her young heart thy °" Romish Upas" threw 
Its firm, deep fibres, strengthening as she grew; 
Thy sneering voice may call them " Popish tricks," — 365 
Her Latin prayers, her dangling crucifix, — 

But °De Profundis blessed her father's grave; 
That "idol" cross her dying mother gave!- 



URANIA 259 

What if some angel looks with equal eyes 
On her and thee, the simple and the wise, 370 

Writes each dark fault against thy brighter creed, 
And drops a tear with every foolish bead ! 

Grieve, as thou must, o'er history's reeking page : 
Blush for the wrongs that stain thy happier age ; 
Strive with the wanderer from the better path, 375 

Bearing thy message meekty, not in wrath; 
Weep for the frail that err, the weak that fall, 
Have thine own faith, — but hope and pray for all ! 

Faith ; Conscience ; Love. A meaner task remains, 
And humbler thoughts must creep in lowlier strains ; 380 
Shalt thou be honest ? Ask the worldly schools, 
And all will tell thee knaves are busier fools ; 
Prudent ? Industrious ? Let not modern pens 
Instruct ou Poor Richard V fellow-citizens. 

Be firm ! one constant element in luck 385 

Is genuine, solid, old ° Teutonic pluck; 
See yon tall shaft; it felt the earthquake's thrill, 
Clung to its base, and greets the sunrise still. 

Stick to your aim; the mongrel's hold will slip, 
But only crowbars loose the bulldog's grip; 390 

Small as he looks, the jaw that never yields 
Drags down the bellowing monarch of the fields ! 

Yet in opinions look not always back; 
Your wake is nothing, mind the coming track ; 



260 HOLMES' POEMS 

Leave what you've done for what you have to do; 395 
Don't be " consistent/' but be simply true. 

Don't catch the fidgets; you have found your 

place 
Just in the focus of a nervous race 
Fretful to change, and rabid to discuss, 
Full of excitements, always in a fuss ; — 400 

Think of the patriarchs; then compare as men 
These lean-cheeked maniacs of the tongue and 

pen; 
Run, if you like, but try to keep your breath; 
Work like a man, but don't be worked to death; 
And with new notions, — let me change the rule, — 405 
Don't strike the iron till it's slightly cool. 

Choose well your set ; our feeble nature seeks 
The aid of clubs, the countenance of cliques; 
And with this object settle first of all 
Your weight of metal and your size of ball. 410 

Track not the steps of such as hold you cheap, — 
Too mean to prize, though good enough to keep; 
The "real, genuine, no-mistake °Tom Thumbs" 
Are little people fed on great men's crumbs. 

Yet keep no followers of that hateful brood 415 

That basely mingles with its wholesome food 
The tumid reptile, which, the poet said, 
Doth wear a precious jewel in his head. 



URANIA 261 

If the wild filly, "Progress," thou woulcPst ride, 
Have young companions ever at thy side ; 420 

But, wouldst thou stride the stanch old mare, " Success/' 
Go with thine elders, though they please thee less. 

Shun such as lounge through afternoons and eves, 
And on thy dial write, " Beware of thieves I" 
Felon of minutes, never taught to feel 425 

The worth of treasures which thy fingers steal, 
Pick my left pocket of its silver dime, 
But spare the right, — it holds my golden time ! 

Does praise delight thee? Choose some ultra side; 
A sure old recipe, and often tried ; 430 

Be its apostle, congressman, or bard, 
Spokesman, or jokesman, only drive it hard; 
But know the forfeit which thy choice abides, 
For on two wheels the poor performer rides, 
One black with epithets the anti throws, 435 

One white with flattery, painted by the pros. 

Though books on manners are not out of print, 
An honest tongue may drop a harmless hint. 

Stop not, unthinking, every friend you meet, 
To spin your worldly fabric in the street ; 440 

While you are emptying your colloquial pack, 
The fiend Lumbago jumps upon his back. 

Nor cloud his features with the unwelcome tale 
Of how he looks, if haply thin and pale; 



262 HOLMES' POEMS 

Health is a subject for his child, his wife, 445 

And the rude office that insures his life. 

Look in his face, to meet thy neighbor's soul, 
Not on his garments, to detect a hole; 
"How to observe/' is what thy pages show, 
Pride of thy sex, ° Miss Harriet Martineau ! 450 

O, what a precious book the one would be 
That taught observers what they're not to see ! 

I tell in verse, — 'twere better done in prose, — 
One curious trick that everybody knows; 
Once form this habit, and it's very strange 455 

How long it sticks, how hard it is to change. 
Two friendly people, both disposed to smile, 
Who meet, like others, every little while, 
Instead of passing with a pleasant bow, 
And " How d Ve do ? " or " How's your uncle now ? " 460 
Impelled by feelings in their nature kind, 
But slightly weak, and somewhat undefined, 
Rush at each other, make a sudden stand, 
Begin to talk, expatiate, and expand; 
Each looks quite radiant, seems extremely struck, 465 
Their meeting so was such a piece of luck ; 
Each thinks the other thinks he's greatly pleased 
To screw the vise in which they both are squeezed; 
So there they talk, in dust, or mud, or snow, 
Both bored to death, and both afraid to go ! 470 

Your hat once lifted, do not hang your fire, 
°Nor, like slow Ajax, fighting still, retire; 



URANIA 263 

When your old castor on your crown you clap, 
Go off; you've mounted your percussion cap ! 

Some words on language may be well applied, 475 
And take them kindly, though they touch your pride ; 
Words lead to things; a scale is more precise, — 
Coarse speech, bad grammar, swearing, drinking, vice. 

Our cold Northeaster's icy fetter clips 
The native freedom of the Saxon lips ; 480 

See the brown peasant of the plastic South, 
How all his passions play about his mouth ! 
With us, the feature that transmits the soul, 
A frozen, passive, palsied breathing-hole. 
The crampy shackles of the ploughboy's walk 485 

Tie the small muscles when he strives to talk ; 
Not all the pumice of the polished town 
Can smooth this roughness of the barnyard down ; 
Rich, honored, titled, he betrays his race 
By this one mark, — he's awkward in the face; — 490 
Nature's rude impress, long before he knew 
The sunny street that holds the sifted few. 

It can't be helped, though, if we're taken young, 
We gain some freedom of the lips and tongue ; 
But school and college often try in vain 495 

To break the padlock of our boyhood's chain ; 
One stubborn word will prove this axiom true ; — 
No quondam rustic can enunciate view. 

A few brief stanzas may be well employed 
To speak of errors we can all avoid. 500 



264 HOLMES' POEMS 

Learning condemns beyond the reach of hope 
The careless lips that speak of soap for soap : 
Her edict exiles from her fair abode 
The clownish voice that utters road for road; 
Less stern to him who calls his coat a coat, 505 

And steers his boat, believing it a boat, 
She pardoned one, our classic city's boast, 
Who said at Cambridge, most instead of most, 
But knit her brows and stamped her angry foot 
To hear a Teacher call a root a root. 510 

Once more; speak clearly, if you speak at all; 
Carve every word before you let it fall ; 
Don't, like a lecturer or dramatic star, 
Try over hard to roll the British R ; 
Do put your accents in the proper spot ; 515 

Don't, — let me beg you, — don't say "How?" for 

"What?" 
And, when you stick on conversation's burs, 
Don't strew your pathway with those dreadful urs. 

From little matters let us pass to less, 
And lightly touch the mysteries of dress ; 520 

The outward forms the inner man reveal, — 
We guess the pulp before we cut the peel. 

I leave the broadcloth, — coats and all the rest, — 
The dangerous waistcoat, called by cockneys "vest," 
The things named "pants" in certain documents, 525 
A word not made for gentlemen, but "gents"; 



URANIA 265 

One single precept might the whole condense ; 

Be sure your tailor is a man of sense ; 

But add a little care, a decent pride, 

And always err upon the sober side. 530 

Three pairs of boots one pair of feet demands, 
If polished daily by the owner's hands ; 
.If the dark meniaFs visit save from this, 
Have twice the number, for he'll sometimes miss. 
One pair for critics of the nicer sex, 535 

Close in the instep's clinging circumflex, 
Long, narrow, light; the Gallic boot of love, 
A kind of cross between a boot and glove. 
But, not to tread on everlasting thorns, 
And sow in suffering what is reaped in corns, 540 

Compact, but easy, strong, substantial, square, 
Let native art compile the medium pair. 
The third remains, and let your tasteful skill 
Here show .some relics of affection still; 
Let no stiff cowhide, reeking from the tan, 545 

No rough caoutchouc, no deformed brogan, 
Disgrace the tapering outline of your feet, 
Though yellow torrents gurgle through the street ; 
But the patched calfskin arm against the flood, 
In neat, light shoes, impervious to the mud. 550 

Wear seemly gloves; not black, nor yet too light, 
And least of all. the pair that once was white ; 



266 HOLMES' POEMS 

Let the dead party where you told your loves 

Bury in peace its dead bouquets and gloves; 

Shave like the goat, if so your fancy bids, 555 

But be a parent, — don't neglect your kids. 

Have a good hat ; the secret of your looks 
Lives with the beaver in Canadian brooks; 
Virtue may flourish in an old cravat, 
But man and nature scorn the shocking hat. 560 

Does beauty slight you from her gay abodes ? 
Like bright °Apollo you must take to Rhoades, 
Mount the new castor, — ice itself will melt; 
Boots, gloves may fail ; the hat is always felt ! 

Be shy of breast-pins; plain, well-ironed white, 565 
With small pearl buttons, — two of them in sight, — 
Is always genuine, while your gems may pass, 
Though real diamonds, for ignoble glass; 
But spurn those paltry °cis-Atlantic lies, 
That round his breast the shabby rustic ties; 570 

Breathe not the name, profaned to hollow things 
The indignant laundress blushes when she brings ! 

Our freeborn race, averse to every check, 
Has tossed the yoke of Europe from its neck; 
From the green prairie to the sea-girt town, 575 

The whole wide nation turns its collars down. 

The stately neck is manhood's manliest part; 
It takes the life-blood freshest from the heart; 



URANIA 267 

With short, curled ringlets close around it spread, 
How light and strong it lifts the Grecian head ! 580 

Thine, fair °Erectheus of Minerva's wall; — 
Or thine, °young athlete of the Louvre's hall, 
Smooth as the pillar flashing in the sun 
That filled the arena where thy wreaths were won, — 
Firm as the band that clasps the antlered spoil 585 

Strained in the winding anaconda's coil ! 
I spare the contrast; it were only kind 
To be a little, nay, intensely blind : 
Choose for yourself: I know it cuts your ear; 
I know the points will sometimes interfere; 590 

I know that often, like °the filial John, 
Whom sleep surprised with half his drapery on, 
You shov\r your features to the astonished town 
With one side standing and the other down ; — 
But, O my friend ! my favorite fellow-man ! 595 

If Nature made you on her modern plan, 
Sooner than wander with your windpipe bare, — 
The fruit of Eden ripening in the air, — 
With that lean head-stalk, that protruding chin, 
Wear standing collars, were they made of tin ! 600 

And have a neck-cloth, — by the throat of Jove ! 
Cut from the funnel of a rusty stove ! 

The long-drawn lesson narrows to its close, 
Chill, slender, slow, the dwindled current flows; 
Tired of the ripples on its feeble springs, 605 

Once more the Muse unfolds her upward wings. 



268 HOLMES' POEMS 

Land of my birth, with this unhallowed tongue, 
Thy hopes, thy dangers, I perchance had sung; 
But who shall sing, in brutal disregard 
Of all the essentials of the " native bard?" 610 

Lake, sea, shore, prairie, forest, mountain, fall, 
His eye omnivorous must devour them all ; 
The tallest summits and the broadest tides 
His foot must compass with its giant strides, 
Where Ocean thunders, where Missouri rolls, 615 

And tread at once the tropics and the poles; 
His food all forms of earth, fire, water, air, 
His home all space, his birth-place everywhere. 

Some grave compatriot, having seen perhaps 
The pictured page that goes in Worcester's Maps, 620 
And read in earnest what was said in jest, 
" Who drives fat oxen " — please to add the rest, — 
Sprung the odd notion that the poet's dreams 
Grow in the ratio of his hills and streams; 
And hence insisted that the aforesaid "bard," 625 

Pink of the future, — fancy's pattern-card, — 
The babe of nature in the "giant West/' 
Must be of course her biggest and her best. 

But, were it true that nature's fostering sun 
Saves all its daylight for that favorite one, 630 

If for his forehead every wreath she means', 
And we, poor children, must not touch the greens; 



URANIA 269 

Since rock and rivers cannot take the road 

To seek the elected in his own abode, 

Some voice must answer, for her precious heir, 635 

One solemn question : — Who shall pay his fare ? 

O when at length the expected bard shall come, 
Land of our pride, to strike thine echoes dumb, 
(And many a voice exclaims in prose and rhyme 
It's getting late, and he's behind his time,) 640 

When all thy mountains clap their hands in joy, 
And all thy cataracts thunder " That's the boy/' — 
Say if with him the reign of song shall end, 
And Heaven declare its final dividend ? 

Be calm, dear brother ! whose impassioned strain 645 
Comes from an alley watered by a drain; 
The little Mincio, dribbling to the Po, 
Beats all the epics of the Hoang Ho ; 
If loved in earnest by the tuneful maid, 
Don't mind their nonsense, — never be afraid ! 650 

The nurse of poets feeds her winged brood 
By common firesides, on familiar food ; 
In a low hamlet, by a narrow stream, 
Where bovine rustics used to doze and dream, 
°She filled young William's fiery fancy full, 655 

While old John Shakespeare talked of beeves and 
wool ! 



270 HOLMES' POEMS 

No Alpine needle, with its climbing spire, 
Brings down for mortals the °Promethean fire, 
If careless nature have forgot to frame 
An altar worthy of the sacred flame. 660 

Unblest by any save the goat-herd's lines, 
°Mont Blanc rose soaring through his il sea of 

pines' '; 
In vain the °Arve and Arveiron dash, 
No hymn salutes them but the °Ranz des Vaches, 
Till °lazy Coleridge, by the morning's light, 665 

Gazed for a moment on the fields of white, 
And lo, the glaciers found at length a tongue, 
Mont Blanc was vocal, and °Chamouni sung ! 

Children of wealth or want, to each is given 
One spot of green, and all the blue of heaven ! 670 

Enough, if these their outward shows impart; 
The rest is thine, — the scenery of the heart. 

If passion's hectic in thy stanzas glow, 
Thy heart's best life-blood ebbing as they flow; 
If with thy verse thy strength and bloom distil, 675 
Drained by the pulses of the fevered thrill ; 
If sound's sweet effluence polarize thy brain, 
And thoughts turn crystals in thy fluid strain, 
Nor rolling ocean, nor the prairie's bloom, 
Nor streaming cliffs, nor rayless cavern's gloom, 680 
Need'st thou, young poet, to inform thy line ; 
Thy own broad signet stamps thy song divine ! 



URANIA 271 

Let others gaze where silvery streams are rolled, 
And chase the rainbow for its cup of gold ; 
To thee all landscapes wear a heavenly dye, 685 

Changed in the glance of thy prismatic eye; 
Nature evoked thee in sublimer throes, 
For thee her inmost °Arethusa flows, — 
The mighty mother's living depths are stirred, — 
Thou art the starred °Osiris of the herd ! 690 

A few brief lines ; they touch on solemn chords, 
And hearts may leap to hear their honest words ; 
Yet, ere the jarring bugle-blast is blown, 
The softer lyre shall breathe its soothing tone. 

New England ! proudly may thy children claim 695 
Their honored birthright by its humblest name ! 
Cold are thy skies, but, ever fresh and clear, 
No rank malaria stains thine atmosphere; 
No fungus weeds invade thy scanty soil, 
Scarred by the ploughshares of unslumbering toil. 700 
Long may the doctrines by thy sages taught, 
Raised from the quarries where their sires have wrought 
Be like the granite of thy rock-ribbed land, — 
As slow to rear, as obdurate to stand ; 
And as the ice, that leaves thy crystal mine, 705 

Chills the fierce alcohol in the °Creole's wine, 
So may the doctrines of thy sober school 
Keep the hot theories of thy neighbors cool. 



272 HOLMES' POEMS 

If ever, trampling on her ancient path, 
Cankered by treachery, or inflamed by wrath, 710 

With smooth "Resolves/' or with discordant cries, 
The mad °Briareus of disunion rise, 
Chiefs of New England ! by your sires' renown, 
Dash the red torches of the rebel down ! 
Flood his black hearth-stone till its flames expire, 715 
Though your old Sachem fanned his council-fire ! 

But if at last — her fading cycle run — 
The tongue must forfeit what the arm has won, 
Then rise, wild Ocean ! roll thy surging shock 
Full on old Plymouth's desecrated rock ! 720 

°Scale the proud shaft degenerate hands have hewn, 
Where bleeding Valor stained the flowers of June ! 
Sweep in one tide her spires and turrets down, 
And howl her dirge above °Monadnock's crown ! 

List not the tale; the Pilgrim's hallowed shore, 725 
Though strewn with weeds, is granite at the core; 
Or rather trust that He who made her free 
Will keep her true, as long as faith shall be ! 

Farewell ! yet lingering through the destined hour, 
Leave, sweet Enchantress, one memorial flower ! 730 

An Angel, floating o'er the waste of snow 
That clad our western desert, long ago, 
(The same fair spirit, who, unseen by day, 
Shone as a star along the Mayflower's way,) 



URANIA 273 

Sent, the first herald of the Heavenly plan, 735 

To choose on earth a resting-place for man, — 
Tired with his flight along the unvaried field, 
Turned to soar upward, when his glance revealed 
A calm, bright bay, enclosed in rocky bounds, 
And at its entrance stood three sister mounds. 740 

The Angel spake: "This threefold hill shall be* 
The home of Arts, the nurse of Liberty ! 
One stately summit from its shaft shall pour 
Its deep-red blaze, along the darkened shore; 
Emblem of thoughts, that, kindling far and wide, 745 
In danger's night shall be a nation's guide. 

One swelling crest the citadel shall crown, 
Its slanted bastions black with battle's frown, 
And bid the sons that tread its scowling heights 
Bare their strong arms for man and all his rights ! 750 
One silent steep along the northern wave 
Shall hold the patriarch's and the hero's grave; 
When fades the torch, when o'er the peaceful scene 
The embattled fortress smiles in living green ; 
The cross of Faith, the anchor staff of Hope, 755 

Shall stand eternal on its grassy slope ; 
There through all time shall faithful Memory tell : 
"Here Virtue toiled, and Patriot Valor fell; 
Thy free, proud fathers slumber at thy side, 
Live as they lived, or perish as they died !" 760 



NOTES 

The Deacon's Masterpiece (Page 1) 

This poem is one of the finest examples of humor to be found in 
American literature. Critics invariably include it among Holmes' 
masterpieces. 

10-11. Georgius Secundus . . . from the German hive. George 
11(1683-1760), son of George I, King of Great Britain and Ire- 
land. He was born at Hanover, Germany ; and succeeded his 
father to the English throne in 1727, ruling until his death. 

12. That was the year when Lisbon . . . gulp her down. 
Lisbon, Portugal, was nearly destroyed by an earthquake on 
November 1, 1755. Forty thousand lives were lost. 

14. And Braddock's army was done so brown. Edward Brad- 
dock, British general, was defeated on July 9, 1755, in an attempt 
to capture Fort Duquesne, a French stronghold located where 
Pittsburg now stands. He fell into an ambuscade when but a few 
miles from the fort and his army was almost annihilated. (See 
French and Indian War in American history.) 

Contentment (Page 6) 

Title. "Man wants but little here below." This quotation 
is taken from Goldsmith's The Hermit : — 

" Man wants but little here below, 
Nor wants that little long." 

Chap. VIII, Stanza 8. 

Goldsmith in turn drew it from Young's Night Thoughts : — 

''Man wants but little, nor that little long." 

Night IV, line 118. 

275 



276 NOTES 

21-22. "I would, perhaps, be Plenipo, . . . near St. James. 
Plenipo, a colloquial abbreviation of plenipotentiary. St. James. 
The palace formerly occupied by the British sovereign and which 
still gives its name officially to the royal court. What, then, does 
the poet mean ? 

24. Gubernator's chair. Governor's chair. 

84. Shawls of true Cashmere. Cashmere shawls are made of 
wool from the wild goats of Tibet and the Himalayas, and are very 
expensive; so called because originally made in Cashmere or 
Kashmir, the northern province of British India. 

39. An easy gait, — two forty -five. At the time that Con- 
tentment was written (1858) a horse that could trot a mile in 
u two 'forty-five " was considered fast. 

44-46. Titians and Raphaels . . . Turner. Titian (1477- 
1576), a celebrated Venetian painter. Among his paintings are 
Ecce Homo, Last Supper, Christ crowned with Thorns, and 
Bacchus and Ariadne. Raphael (1483-1520), a noted Italian 
painter. His masterpieces include Coronation of the Virgin, 
Vision of Ezekiel, The Transfiguration, Hie Crucifixion, and 
The Resurrection. Turner (1775-1851), a famous English land- 
scape painter. The Fighting Temeraire is his most popular 
work. Others are The Golden Bough, The Slave Ship, and The 
Burial at Sea. His art was strongly commended by John Ruskin. 

59. Stradivarius. A violin made by Stradivarius (1644-1737), 
a famous Italian manufacturer of musical instruments. 

60. Meerschaums. Pipes made from meerschaum, a silicate of 
magnesium, claylike in appearance, which receives its name from 
the German {meer, the sea ; schaum, foam) because of its light- 
ness. These pipes are highly valued. 

64. Buhl. Wood richly inlaid with a kind of mosaic made up 
especially of tortoise shell and metal ; so called because originated 
by Andre Charles Boule (1642-1732), a French artist and designer. 

68. Midas' golden touch. According to Greek mythology 



NOTES 277 

Midas, a king in Asia Minor, was given the golden touch by 
Bacchus ; that is, was given the power to convert to gold any- 
thing that he laid his hands upon. He soon begged, however, that 
the favor be withdrawn. (See classical dictionary.) 

The Ballad or the Oysterman. (Page 9) 

12. Leander swam the Hellespont. Among the famous love 
stories in Greek mythology none, perhaps, is more popular than 
that of Hero and Leander. Leander was a youth living on the 
Asiatic side of the Hellespont — the strait connecting the Sea of 
Marmora and the Archipelago — and Hero a priestess of Venus 
dwelling on the European side. They met at a festival and at 
once loved each other. Every night Leander swam the Hellespont 
to meet Hero, she guiding him on his way with a torch. One even- 
ing a storm arose and he was drowned. She discovered his body, 
and overcome with grief, committed suicide by throwing herself 
into the sea. (See classical dictionary.) 

The Last Leaf. ( Page 11) 

This poem is one of the most popular productions found in 
American literature. Critics praise it highly, and almost all read- 
ers, old and young alike, know it by heart. 

1. I saw him once before. The person referred to was Major 
Thomas Melville, an aged resident of Boston, who, in his old age, 
clung to the style of dress that was in vogue in his younger days. 
The poet, a young man of twenty-one at the time he wrote the 
poem, undoubtedly saw him frequently. 

43-44. And if I should live . . . leaf upon the tree. It is 
interesting to recall that Holmes lived to the advanced age of 
eighty-five, outliving all of his great American contemporaries — 
Longfellow, Whittier, Bryant, Lowell, and Emerson — as well as 
all but one or two members of the " Class of '29." 



278 NOTES 



A Modest Request. (Page 13) 

Title. President Everett's inauguration. Edward Everett (1794- 
1865), a celebrated American statesman, author, and orator; was 
president of Harvard College, 1846-1849. 

9. si sic omnia ! O that he had always done or spoken thus ! 

11. Medio e fonte. From the very source. 

12. Epsom salts. This medicine came originally from Epsom, 
England, where it was made by boiling down mineral waters. 

71. "Hands that the rod of empire might have swayed." 

" Perhaps in this neglected spot is laid 

Some heart once pregnant with celestial fire ; 
Hands that the rod of empire might have swayed 
Or waked to ecstacy the living lyre." 

— Gray's Elegy Written in a Country Churchyard. 

73. Homer (about 850 b.c), the greatest of Greek poets. Re- 
puted to have written the Iliad and the Odyssey. 

80. Noah's shoots . . . through the Sandwich Isles. — Accord- 
ing to the Biblical account, Noah's three sons, Shem, Ham, and 
Japheth, who escaped with him in the ark, settled in different 
parts of the earth and became the progenitors of three distinct 
divisions of the human race ; Shem of the Semites, including 
the various peoples of the southwest part of Asia and the eastern 
part of Africa ; Ham of the Hamites, dwelling chiefly in Africa ; 
and Japheth of the Indo-Europeans, found in Europe and the 
northern part of Asia. Note the poet's humorous reference to 
Ham's descendants. 

97. Pope. Alexander Pope (1688-1744), a noted English 
poet. His chief works are Tlie Bape of the Lock, Essay on 
Criticism, Essay on Man, and the Dunciad. He also translated 
Homer's Iliad and Odyssey into English, the translations still 
being regarded as the best yet made. 

101. Copies of Luther. Martin Luther (1483-1546), the great 



NOTES 279 

German reformer whose condemnation of certain practices in the 
Roman Catholic Church led to the institution of Protestantism. 
Explain the reference to him here. 

102. Carlyle. Thomas Carlyle (1795-1881), a noted Scottish 
essayist and historian. Among his chief works are a Life of 
Schiller, Heroes and Hero- Worship, Sartor Besartus, Past and 
Present, The French Bevolution, and Sesame and Lilies. He was 
a man of positive force. Explain the reference to him here. 

112. Nine. The Muses, nine in number, who, according to Greek 
mythology, presided over the arts and sciences, music and poetry. 
(See classical dictionary.) 

130. Like Ruth's amid the grain. The Biblical character 
Ruth, as she gleans in the fields, is a favorite one in literature. 
(See note on line 11, A Mothers Secret.) 

" Thou wast not born for death, immortal Bird ! 

No hungry generations tread thee down ; 

The voice I hear this passing night was heard 

In ancient days by emperor and clown : 
Perhaps the self-same song that found a path 
Through the sad heart of Ruth, when sick for home, 
She stood in tears amid the alien corn ; 
The same .that ofttimes hath 
Charmed magic casements, opening on the foam 
Of perilous seas, in faery lands forlorn." 

— Keats, Ode to a Nightingale, lines 61-70. 

" Everywhere about us are they glowing, 
Some like stars, to tell us Spring is born ; 
Others, their blue eyes with tears o'erflowing, 
Stand like Ruth amid the golden corn." 

— Longfellow, Flowers, lines 33-36. 

163. Achilles. The greatest of the Greek heroes in the Trojan 
War. His mother, Thetis, a sea-goddess, plunged him, when an 
infant, in the River Styx, a river of the underground world whose 



280 NOTES 

water made invulnerable all flesh which it touched. In doing so, 
however, she held him by the heel, which thus remained vul- 
nerable. He was shot with a poisoned arrow in the heel by Paris 
shortly after he had slain Hector and died of his wound. (See 
classical dictionary. ) 

171-174. The glorious John . . . " Pilgrim's Progress." John 
Banyan (1628-1688), a famous English writer and clergyman. 
His greatest work is The Pilgrim's Progress. 

187. Themis. The Roman goddess of laws, ceremonies, and 
oracles. (See classical dictionary.) 

190. Blackstone's port. William Blackstone (1723-1780), a 
celebrated English jurist and author. His chief work is Com- 
mentaries on the Laws of England. 

Verses for After-dinner. (Page 22) 

This poem was read before the Phi Beta Kappa Society of 
Harvard in 1844. 

45. Sculpin. A sea-fish with a very large head. Frequently 
called "bighead." 

The Dorchester Giant. ( Page 25) 

Dorchester. Formerly a town a few miles south of Boston, but 
- now a part of the city. 

14. Dorchester Heights and Milton Hill. Hills a short distance 
apart, in the neighborhoods of South Boston and Milton, a town 
southeast of Boston. 

41. Roxbury Hills. Some low hills in Roxbury, formerly a 
town southwest of Boston but now a part of the city. 

41-45. They flung it over . . . tumbled as thick as rain. In 
the neighborhood of the places mentioned is found a kind of rock, 
composed of rounded fragments of stone cemented together by 
various mineral substances, called conglomerate or pudding-stone. 



, NOTES 281 

Evening : by a Tailor. (Page 29) 

Note the skilful choice of words throughout the poem. 

12. Can it be a cabbage? Cabbage, a name applied to cloth 
stolen by a tailor from the material for garments furnished by a 
customer. 

26. Goose. A tailor's pressing iron ; so called from the resem- 
blance of its handle to the neck of a goose. 

The Meeting of the Dryads. (Page 38) 

This poem was written shortly after the trees around Harvard 
College had been pruned. According to classic mythology each 
tree that grew was protected by a forest nymph called a Dryad. 
(See classical dictionary.) 

Lines recited at the Berkshire Festival. (Page 41) 

19. Though Plato denies you. Plato (429-347 b.c), a cele- 
brated Greek philosopher who in his great work, The Republic, 
protested strongly against the presence of poets. 

23. Dodger. One who commits petty thefts or plays tricks. 

The Old Man of the Sea. (Page 46) 

Title. The Old Man of the Sea is a character in the story " Sind- 
bad the Sailor," one of the Arabian Nights tales. He is represented 
as a monster in human form who sprang upon Sindbad's shoulders 
and refused to dismount. Sindbad finally induced him to drink 
some wine which intoxicated him, after which he broke his hold 
and crushed his head with a stone. The name is frequently applied 
to a person of whom one cannot get rid, and it is in this sense 
that Holmes uses it. 

50. Wandering Jew. A legendary character who is reputed to 
have refused Christ permission to rest at his home while on his way 



282 NOTES . 

to the place of his crucifixion. Christ rebuked him, saying, " Thou 
shalt wander on earth till I return." He has since wandered from 
country to country, a prey to remorse. Novelists and painters 
have introduced him at numerous times into their works. (See 
S. Baring-Gould's Curious Myths of the Middle Ages.) 

The Comet. (Page 52) 

16. Tyrian dye. A celebrated purple dye manufactured in an- 
cient Tyre, a city of Phoenicia on the east shore of the Mediterra- 
nean Sea. 

Parson Turell's Legacy. (Page 55) 

This poem makes an excellent companion-piece for The Deacons 
Masterpiece. 

5. President Holyoke's day. Edward Holyoke (1089-1769) was 
elected president of Harvard in 1737 and occupied the office until 
his death. 

12. Born in a house with a gambrel-roof . For a description of 
the "house with a gambrel-roof," the poet's birthplace, see The 
Poet at the Breakfast Table. 

48. Medford. A small city a few miles northwest of Boston. 

57. Chief Justice Sewall. Stephen Sewall (1704-1760), chief jus- 
tice of the supreme court of Massachusetts from 1752 until his death. 

58. Cotton Mather (1663-1728). A noted New England clergy- 
man, author, and scholar. Among his publications are Wonders 
of the Invisible World, Magnalia Christi Americana, and 
Sacred Scriptures of the Old and New Testament. 

116. Governor Hancock. John Hancock (1737-1793), of Pvevo- 
lutionary War fame ; first signer of the Declaration of Indepen- 
dence, and governor of Massachusetts in 1780-1785 and 1787-1793. 

147. The Vice-Gub. The Vice-Gubernator or Governor. Com- 
monly called the Lieutenant-Governor. 

159. Codicil. Clause attached to a will. 



NOTES 283 

The Music-grinders. (Page 61) 

47. Burns and Moore. Robert Burns (1759-1796), a celebrated 
Scottish poet, author of The Cotter's Saturday Night, For a' that 
and a? that, Auld Lang Syne, Tarn O'Shanter, etc. Moore. 
Thomas Moore (1779-1852), a famous Irish poet, author of Lalla 
Rookh, Oft in the Stilly Night, TJiose Evening Bells, ' Tis the 
Last Hose of Summer, etc. 

The Boys. (Page 66) 

15-33. That boy we call " Doctor "... You hear that boy 
laughing? "Doctor," Francis Thomas. "Judge" George T. 
Bigelow, Chief Justice of the Massachusetts Supreme Court. 
"Speaker," Francis Crowninshield, Speaker of the Massachusetts 
House of Representatives. "Mr. Mayor," George W. Richardson, 
one time mayor of Worcester, Massachusetts. "Member of Con- 
gress," George T. Davis, member of the United States House of 
Representatives. " Reverend," James F. Clark. That boy . . . 
mathematical look, Benjamin Pierce, the noted mathematician. 
A boy . . . three-decker brain, Benjamin R. Curtis, member 
of the United States Supreme Court. Naming him Smith, Samuel 
F. Smith, author of America. You hear that boy laughing ? 
Probably Samuel May, a philanthropist. 

23. Royal Society. An organization founded in London, in 1660, 
to promote the interests of science. To be asked to become a 
member of it is esteemed a high honor. 

The Sweet Little Man. (Page 70) 

The fine sarcasm in this poem is aimed of course at the men of 
the North who refused to enlist in defence of the Union while the 
Civil War was on. In contrast to it read Bryant's stirring appeal, 
Our Country's Call. 



284 NOTES 

37. Malakoff-takers. Malakoff, one of the chief defences of 
Sebastopol, Russia, was stormed by the French on September 8, 
1855, while the Crimean War was in progress. 

38. The soldiers that scaled the Redan. Kedan, another defence 
of Sebastopol, was captured by the English on the same day that 
Malakoff fell into the hands of the French. 

42. Sauve qui peut. Save himself who can. 

Nux Postccenatica. (Page 73) 

Title. Nux postcoenatica, translated freely, means after- 
dinner nuts. 

5. Dr. Faustus. A German magician, astrologer, and sooth- 
sayer, who lived in the last part of the fifteenth and first part of 
the sixteenth centuries. He was a very wicked man, which, ac- 
cording to popular belief, resulted in his being carried off at last 
by Satan. Many authors have made use of the legends concerning 
him, Marlowe in his The Tragical History of Doctor Faustus and 
Goethe in his Faust employing them to the best advantage. 

20. The Judge. See note on line 15, The Boys. 

35. Pegasus. In Greek mythology the winged horse of the 
Muses. He is associated with poetry. (See classical dictionary.) 

36. Helicon. A mountain range in Greece where, according to 
mythology, the Muses dwelt. Upon one of its slopes was the 
Hippocrene fountain, whose waters were reputed to furnish poetic 
inspiration. (See classical dictionary.) 

40. Montgomery Place. The poet's place of residence in Boston. 

51. Stilton. A kind of English cheese originally made at the 
village of Stilton, Huntington County, England. 

52. Roger Bacon (1214-1294). A noted English philosopher 
and author. His chief works were written in Latin. Francis 
Bacon (1561-1626). Another noted English philosopher and au- 
thor, who also wrote in Latin. 



NOTES 285 

57. And so I come, — like Lochinvar, to tread a single measure. 
Lochinvar, the hero of a ballad in Scott's Marmion. 

" And now I am come, with this lost love of mine 
To lead but one measure, drink one glass of wine." 

— Marmion, Canto V. 

61. Madeira. A rich wine made on the Island of Madeira off 
the northwest coast of Africa. 

69. Vesuvius flings the scoriae. Vesuvius, a celebrated volcano 
in the western part of Italy, a few miles from Naples ; the only 
active one in Europe. Scoriae, volcanic ashes. 

On Lending a Punch-bowl. (Page 78) 

6. Antwerp. The chief seaport and commercial city of Belgium. 

8. Flemish ale. Ale made in Flanders. The name Flanders 
was once applied to Belgium and parts of France and Holland that 
border on the North Sea. 

14. Who used to follow Timothy, and take a little wine. The 
Apostle Paul in one of his letters to Timothy said, " Drink no 
longer water, but use a little wine for thy stomach's sake and thine 
often infirmities." 1 Timothy v. 23. 

16. Leyden, where he found conventicles and schnaps. Ley- 
den, a city in the southwestern part of Holland. Many Puritans 
sought refuge here from persecution in England ; it was also from 
here that the Mayflower began its voyage to America, conven- 
ticles. Assemblies for religious worship, schnaps. Holland gin. 

22. Miles Standish. One of the Mayflower passengers, who 
was made captain of the Puritan forces because of his military 
training. He defeated the Indians in several battles. He is one 
of the chief characters in Longfellow's popular poem, The Court- 
ship of Miles Standish. 

25. Hollands. Gin made in Holland. (See note on 1. 16 above.) 



286 NOTES 

30. Pequot's ringing whoop. The Pequot Indians were the 
strongest tribe with whom the New England settlers had to con- 
tend. They were finally almost exterminated in what was known 
as the Peqnot War, fought in 1636-1638. (See American history.) 

The Chambered Nautilus. (Page 97) 

This poem was Holmes' favorite among his own productions. 
Although not read more widely than several others, he believed 
that it excelled all in literary merit. In commenting upon it he 
said in his droll way : "I think in The Chambered Nautilus I may 
have done a little better than I knew how." Critics usually agree 
with him in his estimate, and popular opinion gives it a very high 
place in American literature. 

The nautilus is a kind of shellfish, found in the tropical parts of 
the Pacific Ocean, which was formerly supposed to be provided 
with a membrane which it used as a sail. The shell is spiral and 
divided into several parts or cells by partitions, the outer chamber 
alone being occupied. 

5. Siren. A sea nymph, one of several, who by music allured 
sailors to destruction. (See classical dictionary.) 

26. Triton. A trumpeter of the sea-gods, half man and half 
dolphin, who blew upon a shell trumpet to quiet the sea. (See 
classical dictionary.) 

The Voiceless. (Page 92) 

13-14. Leucadian breezes . . . Sappho's memory-haunted 
billow. Sappho (about 600 b.c), a Greek lyric poet; according 
to tradition she committed suicide by throwing herself into the sea 
from a cliff on the island of Leucadia, one of the Ionian group off 
the coast of Greece. 



NOTES 2S7 

The Two Streams. (Page 93) 

7. Athabasca. A river in British America which rises in the 
Rocky Mountains, flows northeast, and joins the Peace River to 
form Slave River. It may be regarded as the upper course of the 
Mackenzie, which flows into the Arctic Ocean. 

12. Oregon. A river in the western part of North America, 
which rises in the Rocky Mountains a short distance from the 
source of the Athabasca, flows south, then west, and empties into 
the Pacific Ocean. Commonly called the Columbia. 

Agnes. (Page 98) 

"The story of Sir Harry Franklin and Agnes Surriage is told in 
the ballad with a very 'strict adhesion to the facts. These were 
obtained from information afforded me by the Reverend Mr. 
Webster of Hopkinton, in company with whom I visited the 
Franklin Mansion in that town, then standing ; from a very in- 
teresting Memoir by the Reverend Elias Nason of Medford ; and 
from the manuscript diary of Sir Harry, or more properly Sir 
Charles Henry Franklin, now in the library of the Massachusetts 
Historical Society. 

" At the time of the visit referred to, old Julia was living, and on 
our return we called at the house where she resided. Her account 
is little more than paraphrased in the poem. If the incidents are 
treated with a certain liberality at the close of the fifth part, the 
essential fact that Agnes rescued Sir Harry from the ruins after 
the earthquake, and their subsequent marriage as related, may be 
accepted as literal truth. So with regard to most of the trifling 
details which are given ; they are taken from the record. 

" It is to be hoped that the Reverend Mr. Nason's Memoir will be 
published, that this extraordinary romance of our sober New Eng- 
land life may become familiar to that class of readers who prefer a 
rigorous statement to an embellished narrative. It will be found 



288 NOTES 

to contain many historical facts and allusions which add much to 
its romantic interest. 

" It is greatly to be regretted that the Franklin Mansion no longer 
exists. It was accidentally burned on the 23d of January, 1858, a 
year or two after the first sketch of this ballad was written. A 
visit to it was like stepping out of the century into the years 
before the Revolution. A new house, similar in plan and arrange- 
ments to the old one, has been built upon its site, and the terraces, 
the clump of box, and the lilacs doubtless remain to bear witness 
to the truth of this story." — Author's Note. 

16. Shirley's homespun days. Shirley (1693-1771), colonial 
governor of Massachusetts in 1741-1745. 

23-24. Wachuset's lonely mound . . . Shawmut's threefold 
hill. Wachuset, a low mountain in the east-central part of 
Massachusetts. Shawmut, a suburb of New Bedford, a city in the 
southeast part of Massachusetts. 

37. 'Twas in the second George's day. See note on 11. 10-11, 
The Deacon's Masterpiece. 

61. Wise Phipps. William Phipps (1651-1694), colonial gov- 
ernor of Massachusetts in 1692-1694. 

63-64. Brave Knowles . . . King Street mob's decree. A 
reference to the riot in Boston commonly spoken of as the Boston 
Massacre. (See American history.) 

69-71. Chloe's "beauteous Form" . . . Strephon of the West. 
Chloe and Strephon, a shepherdess and shepherd in the fanciful 
work Arcadia by Sir Philip Sidney (1554-1586). 

82. Bay of Lynn. A small bay off the eastern coast of Massa- 
chusetts, upon which the city of Lynn is situated. It is separated 
from Massachusetts Bay on the east by a rocky peninsula. 

93. Chelsea Beach. A beach a short distance northeast of 
Boston. 

99. Of fishy Swampscot, salt Nahant. Towns on the Nahant 
Bay, east of the Bay of Lynn. (See note on 1. 82 above.) 



NOTES 289 

103. Salem's frugal sires. Salem, a city in the northeast part 
of Massachusetts, a few miles above Lynn. It was the scene of the 
famous "Salem Witchcraft " in 1692. (See American history.) 

110. Marblehead. A town a few miles southeast of Salem. 
(See note on 1. 103 above.) 

132. Misery Isles. Two small islands in the Atlantic Ocean, a 
few miles northeast of Salem. (See note on 1. 103 above.) 

184. Gloucester. A city in the northeast part of Massachusetts, 
a short distance above Salem. 

186. Essex. The northeast county of Massachusetts. 

319. Alpine lake. A lake among the Alps Mountains. 

320. Sierra's shade. Sierra, a word meaning a chain of hills or 
mountains, used as part of the name of many mountain ranges in 
Spain and her territories and former territories. It refers here to 
some mountain chain in Spain. 

327. Cintra's hazel-shaded brow. Cintra, a city in the western 
part of Portugal. 

332. Braganza's queen. Marianna, wife of Joseph of the House 
of Braganza who became king of Portugal in 1750. 

339. When all her towers shall slide away. See note on 1. 12, 
The Deacon's Masterpiece. 

504. Wiltshire Avon's wave. Wiltshire Avon, a small river in 
the southern part of England ; not to be confounded with the 
Avon on which Stratford is situated. 

The Ploughman. (Page 123) 

This poem was read before the Agricultural Society of Berkshire 
County, Massachusetts, on October 4, 1849. 

Old Ironsides. (Page 133) 

The incident which led to the writing of this poem is given in 
the Introduction, pp. xiii-xiv. 

u 



290 NOTES 

International Ode — Our Fathers' Land. (Page 134) 

This song was sung in unison by twelve hundred children of the 
public schools at the visit of the Prince of Wales to Boston on 
October 18, 1860. Air : God save the Queen. 

" Qui Vive!" (Page 135) 

Title. Qui vive. Who goes there ? A sentinel's challenge. 

4. Tri-colored banner. The flag of France, which has three 
colors, — red, white, and blue, — arranged in broad vertical stripes. 

19-20. Jena's carnage flying red . . . tossing o'er Marengo's 
dead. Jena, a city in the central part of Germany, the scene of a 
hard-fought battle between the French under Napoleon and the 
Germans under Prince Hohenlohe on October 14, 1806. The 
French were victorious. Marengo, a village in the northwest part 
of Italy, where Napoleon gained a notable victory over the Aus- 
trians on June 14, 1800. 

Vive La France ! (Page 137) 

Title. Vive La France ! Long live France. A sentiment offered 
at the dinner to the Prince Napoleon, at the Revere House, Boston, 
on September 25, 1861. 

33. Pluck Conde's baton from the trench. Conde (1621-1686), 
a French general of distinction, who gained for himself the sobri- 
quet "The Great Conde'." 

34. Charles Martel (690-741), a great Frankish statesman and 
general who defeated the Mohammedans at Tours in the western 
part of France in 732, thus saving Europe from Saracen rule. 
The heavy blows which he dealt in this battle won him the 
surname Martel, meaning "The Hammer." 

36. La Pucelle. The Maid. The surname given Joan of Arc 
(1412-1431), a peasant girl who led the French to victory against 



NOTES 291 

the English and placed Charles VII upon the throne of France. 
She was betrayed into the hands of the English in 1430 and the 
next year burned at the stake as a heretic. 

37. Turenne (1611-1675), a celebrated French general whose 
defeat of the Germans led to the noted treaty of Westphalia in 1648 
and who afterward conquered French Flanders. He was killed in 
a skirmish at Sasbach, Germany. 

38. One lift of Bayard's lance. Bayard (1475-1524), a French 
national hero who won great fame in several campaigns in Italy. 
He was slain at the river Sesia in the northwest part of that 
country. 

39. Call Marengo's Chief again. Napoleon. (See note on 11. 19- 
20, "Qui Vive!") 

Brother Jonathan's Lament for Sister Caroline. (Page 139) 

South Carolina seceded from the Union in December, 1860. (See 
American history. ) 

Spring. (Page 147) 

40. Pallas. Athene, the Greek goddess of wisdom and war ; 
known as Minerva by the Romans. (See classical dictionary.) 

Spring has Come. (Page 150) 

Title. Intra Muros. Within the walls. 

32. Pink as Auroral finger-tips. Aurora, the Roman goddess 
of the dawn ; called Eos by the Greeks. (See classical dictionary. ) 

Our Limitations. (Page 152) 

7-8. When Sinai's summit . . . Prophet knew his voice 
alone. Sinai, a mountain in the northeast part of Egypt, on whose 
summit Moses received the tables of stone containing the ten com- 
mandments. (See Exodus xix and xx.) 



292 NOTES 

9-10. When Pilate's hall . . . Captive answered not a word. 
" Then said Pilate unto Jesus, 'Hearest thou not how many things 
they witness against thee ? ' And he answered him to never a 
word." Matthew xxvii. 13-14. 

The Old Player. (Page 153) 

41-43. Romeo . . . bronzed Moor . . . Hamlet. Heroes of Shake- 
speare's plays, Borneo and Juliet, Othello the Moor, and Hamlet. 
76. Houris. Nymphs of the Mohammedan paradise. 

The Island Ruin. (Page 158) 

2. St. Botolph's island-studded bay. A small bay or harbor off 
the southeast coast of Massachusetts. 

11. Titan. A giant of great strength who, with his associates, 
waged war against the gods Saturn and Jupiter. (See classical 
dictionary.) The name is used here in a figurative sense, being 
applied to the sea. 

48. Tyburn's dangling halter. Tyburn, the official place of ex- 
ecution in England until 1783, when it was removed to Newgate. 

58. Dumb as the legend on the Dighton rock. Near Dighton, 
a town in the southeast part of Massachusetts, is a rock with an 
inscription upon it which was formerly ascribed to the Northmen. 

120. Turkish ataghan. A short sabre common among the 
Mohammedans. 

132. Or double Joe, or Portuguese moidore. Double Joe. A Por- 
tuguese gold coin worth about two dollars. Joe is a contraction of 
Johannes. Portuguese moidore. A Portuguese gold coin worth 
about six and a half dollars. 

A Mother's Secret. (Page 163) 

5. Ave, Maria! Hail, mother ! The first words of the Roman 
Catholic prayer to the Virgin Mary as the mother of Christ. 



NOTES 293 

11. Ruth. A biblical character whose history is given in the 
Book of Ruth. She came from Moab, a country to the east of the 
Dead Sea, now a part of Turkey in Asia, to Palestine, where she 
married Boaz, an ancestor of Jesse and David, who in turn were 
ancestors of Jesus. (See Book of Ruth and Matthew i.) 

56. Steel of Herod's murdering bands. A reference to Herod's 
attempt to kill Jesus, which was frustrated by the flight of the 
child's parents into Egypt by the way of Edom, a district to the 
south of the Dead Sea. (See Matthew ii. 7-16.) 

71. Moriah's height. Moriah, the hill in Jerusalem upon which 
Solomon's temple was built. 

84. Hinnom's vale. A valley south of Jerusalem ; frequently 
called Gehenna. An uninviting place. 

The Dying Seneca. (Page 173) 

Seneca (4 b.c.-65 a.d.). A celebrated Roman philosopher. 
He tutored Nero, and when his pupil became ruler of the Roman 
Empire, practically dictated the policy of the government. He 
finally fell into disfavor, and being charged with treason, was 
forced by the emperor to take his own life. (See history of Rome.) 

The Hudson. (Page 176) 

15. Avon. A small river in England upon which Stratford, the 
village in which Shakespeare was born and died, is situated. 

The Pilgrim's Vision. (Page 178) 

5-6. Of Wituwamet's pictured knife . . . Pecsiiot's whooping 
shout. Wituwamet and Pecksuot, chiefs of the Massachusetts. 
Indians, slain by Miles Standish and his men. Longfellow in- 
troduces them into his The Courtship of Miles Standish : — 



294 NOTES 

" One was Pecksuot named, and the other was called Wattawamat. 
Round their necks were suspended their knives in scabbards of 

wampum, 
Two-edged trenchant knives, with points as sharp as a needle. 

% %: % %i % tfc # % 

Then he (Wituwamet) unsheathed his knife, and, whetting the blade on 

his left hand, 
Held it aloft and displayed a woman's face on the handle." 

— The Courtship of 31 lies Standish, Part VII. 

29. Leyden. See note on 1. 16, On Lending a Punch-bowl. 

53-64. I saw along the winter snow . . . the train passed by. 
A reference to the Revolutionary War. 

73-88. A crash, — as when some swollen cloud . . . cross of 
England fell. A reference to the second war with England, the 
War of 1812. 

77. Saint George's blood-red cross. The flag of the English 
navy contains a red cross upon a white field with a union jack in 
the upper corner next to the mast. Saint George is the patron 
saint of England. 

78. Mistress of the Seas. A term long applied to England 
because of her superior naval strength. 

84. Armada's knell. Armada, a great fleet of Spanish war- 
ships sent against England in 1588, which was defeated by the 
English in one of the greatest naval engagements on record. 
Nearly all of the Spanish vessels were destroyed or captured. 

The New Eden. (Page 183) 

This poem was read at the meeting of the Berkshire Horticul- 
tural Society, at Stockbridge, Massachusetts, on September 13, 1854. 

53. Fleming's pride. See note on 1. 8, On Lending a Punch- 
bowl. 

58. Houri. See note on 1. 74, The Old Player. 

75-76. That saw the young Euphrates . . . Gihon's circling 



NOTES 295 

waters. Euphrates. A large river in Asiatic Turkey which rises 
in the Armenian Mountains, flows south, then southeast, and 
empties into the Tigris a short distance from the Persian Gulf. 
According to the Bible it was one of the four great rivers that 
watered the Garden of Eden. (See Genesis ii.) Gihon's cir- 
cling waters. Gihon, another of the rivers of Eden. It has not 
been identified. 

105. Sirocco's wings. Sirocco, a hot wind that blows from the 
Sahara in Africa over the southern countries of Europe. 

109. IshmaePs thirst. Ishmael, the son of Abraham and Hagar, 
who with his mother was cast out into the wilderness, where he 
nearly perished of thirst. He was saved through divine interpo- 
sition. (See Genesis xxi. 14-19.) 

A Good Time Going. (Page 207) 

These farewell verses were addressed to Charles Mackay (1814- 
1889), a Scottish poet who was in America as a special correspond- 
ent for the London Times (luring the Civil War. Their title was 
probably suggested by that of one of his poems, The Good Time 
Coming. Tubal Cain is perhaps his most popular work. 

4. Ayrshire's peasant. Burns. See note on 1. 47, The Music- 
grinders. 

Robinson or Letden. (Page 210) 

Title. John Robinson (1575-1625), an English Puritan minister, 
who went to the Netherlands to become the pastor of a congrega- 
tion of Puritans that had removed there to escape persecution. 
He was first stationed at Amsterdam and later at Ley den. (See 
note on 1. 16, On Lending a Punch-bowl.) 

5. Speedwell's anchor swung. Speedwell, a ship which was to 
have accompanied the Mayflower to America, but which was com- 
pelled to return because of a leak shortly after the voyage was 
begun. 



296 NOTES 

11-12. Build by Haerlem Meer . . . along the Zuyder-Zee. 
Haerlem Meer. A lake in the western part of Holland which 
was drained in 1840-1853. Commonly written Haarlemmer Meer. 
Zuyder-Zee. A sea in the northwest part of Holland ; an arm of 
the North Sea. 

27-28. the creeping Maas . . . the. isle of Ysselmond. Maas. 
A river which rises in the northern part of France, flows north and 
west through Belgium and Holland, and empties into the North 
Sea. Commonly spelled Meuse, Maas being the Dutch form. 
Ysselmond. An island in the Meuse a short distance from its 
mouth. Commonly spelled Ijsselmonde. 

29. Briel. A seaport in the southwest part of Holland, a few 
miles from Rotterdam. 

A Poem. Dedication of the Pittsfield Cemetery. 

(Page 216) 

This poem was read at the dedication of the cemetery at Pittsfield, 
a city in the western part of Massachusetts, on September 9, 1850. 

To an English Friend. (Page 221) 

16. Pontchartrain. A lake in the southwest part of Louisiana, 
a short distance above New Orleans. 

18. Katahdin's wreath. Katahdin, a mountain northeast of 
the central part of Maine. 

The Bells. (Page 222; 
In connection with the study of this poem read Poe's The Bells. 

For the Burns Centennial Celebration. (Page 225) 

7. Frith of Clyde. The estuary of the Clyde River in the 
western part of Scotland. It opens into the North Channel, which 
joins the Atlantic Ocean and the Irish Sea. 



NOTES 297 

11. Ayr and Doon. Small rivers in the southwest part of 
Scotland. Burns' home was near them. 

17. Shenstone (1714-1763). An English poet of little impor- 
tance. His most popular work is The Schoolmistress. 

18. Corydon and Phillis. In pastoral poetry these are conven- 
tional names applied to shepherds and shepherdesses. 

19-20. Wolfe was climbing . . . Bourbon lilies. In 1759 Gen- 
eral Wolfe scaled the cliffs leading to the Plains of Abraham at 
Quebec and there defeated the French forces under Montcalm. 
(See American history.) Bourbon lilies. The Bourbons ruled in 
France at the time Quebec fell into the hands of the English. The 
lily is the national flower of France. 

For the Meeting of the Burns Club. (Page 228) 

7-8. Wachusett to Ben Nevis . . . Monadnock to Ben Lomond. 
Wachusett. (See note on 11. 23-24, Agnes.) Ben Nevis. A 
mountain in the central part of Scotland. Monadnock. A moun- 
tain in the southwest part of New Hampshire. Ben Lomond. 
A mountain a few miles south of Ben Nevis. 

17. Cheviot's hills. The low mountains which form the boun- 
dary between England and Scotland. They are celebrated in 
history and story. 

33. Scotia's morning sky. Scotia, Scotland. 

51-52. The Rose, the Shamrock, and the Thistle. The national 
flowers of England, Ireland, and Scotland respectively. 

56. The Thames, the Clyde, the Shannon. Important rivers 
of England, Scotland, and Ireland, respectively. 

Ode for Washington's Birthday. (Page 230) 

This poem was read before the Boston Mercantile Library 
Association on February 22, 1856. Note the points in Washing- 
ton's career as referred to in the different stanzas. 



298 NOTES 



After a Lecture on Wordsworth. (Page 235) 

William Wordsworth (1770-1850), a great English poet. His 
verse deals almost entirely with nature. Among his best-known 
works are Michael, Ode to Duty, The Solitary Reaper, Daffodils, 
Lucy Gray, We are Seven, and Ode on Intimations of Immortality. 

5. Berkshire hills. The mountains of Berkshire County, Massa- 
chusetts. 

9-20. A thousand rills ... to reach the Sound. Many small 
rivers have their sources in the Berkshire Hills and eventually find 
their way to Long Island Sound by the way of the Connecticut 
River. 

After a Lecture on Moore. (Page 239) 

Thomas Moore. See note on 1. 47, The Music-grinders. 
4. Erin. A name by which Ireland was formerly known ; now 
used only in poetry. 

After a Lecture on Keats. (Page 241) 

John Keats (1795-1821), a celebrated English poet. His best- 
known poems are The Eve of St. Agnes, Ode on a Grecian Urn, 
Ode to a Nightingale, Hyperion, Endymion, and Lamia. 

1-2. The wreath . . . lying on thy Roman grave. After the 
death of Keats, which occurred at Rome, Italy, Shelley mourned 
his loss in the elegiac poem Adonais. 

39-42. The God of music . . . Hyacinthus lay. Apollo, the 
god of music, was very fond of a youth named Hyacinthus, with 
whom he used to spend much time in play. One day while the 
two were pitching quoits the boy was struck with one of the 
weights, and fatally hurt. The god, unable to save him, changed 
his blood to a flower which he called Hyacinthus. (See classical 
dictionary.) 



NOTES 299 

After a Lecture on Shelley. (Page 243) 

Percy Bysshe Shelley (1792-1822), a famous English poet. 
Among his best-known works are The Sensitive Plant, The 
Cloud, Ode to the Skylark, Ode to the West Wind, Prometheus 
Unbound, and Adonais. 

1. Spezzia's treacherous bay. A small bay off the west coast 
of Italy, in which Shelley was drowned on July 8, 1822. 

29. Sleep where the gentle Adonais lies. See note on 11. 1-2, 
After a Lecture on Keats. 

Urania : a Rhymed Lesson. (Page 244) 

This poem was delivered before the Boston Mercantile Library 
Association on October 14, 1846. Urania. In Greek mythology, 
one of the Muses (see note on 1. 113, A Modest Bequest), second 
only to Calliope. She was associated especially with astronomy 
and the celestial forces, and was the arbitress of fate. Holmes 
follows the practice of invoking the aid of the Muse, — a practice 
which was once very common. 

5. Crystals from the Epsom mine. See note on 1. 12, A Modest 
Bequest. 

6. Antimonial wine. Wine containing antimony, a substance 
used for medicinal purposes. 

8. Sardonic grin. An old medical term for a spasmodic affec- 
tion of the muscles of the face, giving it an appearance of laughter. 

45. Heavenly Maid. This expression is taken from the works 
of the English poet, William Collins (1720-1756). 

" When Music, heavenly maid, was young, 
While yet in early Greece she sung." 

— The Passions, line 1. 

93-94. As the old poet. Homer (about 750 b.c), the great 
Greek poet, wrote : — 



300 NOTES 

"E'en as the leaves have their generations, so also have mortals." 

— Iliad, VI. 146. 

Wesley quotes this line in his account of his early doubts and per- 
plexities. (See Southey's Life of Wesley, Vol. II, p. 185.) 

96. Pharaohs' or the Athenian's creed. The religious beliefs of 
the ancient Egyptians or Greeks. 

98. Moslem's paradise. The paradise of the Mohammedans. 

112. Jove. The chief god of the ancient Romans ; frequently 
called Jupiter. He corresponds to the Greek Zeus. (See classical 
dictionary. ) 

233. The Chapel. " King's Chapel," the foundation of which 
was laid by Governor Shirley in 1749. 

239. The simpler pile. The church in Brattle Square, conse- 
crated in 1773. The completion of the edifice, the design of which 
included a spire, was prevented by the troubles of the Revolution, 
and its plain square tower presents nothing more attractive than 
a massive simplicity. In the front of this tower is still seen, half 
imbedded in the brick- work, a cannon ball, which was thrown 
from the American fortifications at Cambridge, during the bom- 
bardment of the city, then occupied by the British troops. 

246. The Southern spire. The " Old South," first occupied for 
public worship in 1730. 

247. The Giant. Park Street Church, built in 1809, the tall 
white steeple of which is the most conspicuous of all the Boston 
spires. 

252. The Northern Minstrel. Christ Church, opened for public 
worship in 1723, and containing a set of eight bells. 

259. Ceylon. A large island in the Indian Ocean off the south- 
east coast of British India. 

300. The stern disciple of Geneva's creed. A believer in the 
doctrines of John Calvin, a theologian and reformer of the sixteenth 
century. 



NOTES 301 

312. The Celtic blackness of her braided hair. The Celts, an 
ancient race of people, of whom the inhabitants of Ireland, Wales, 
northern France, and the Highlands of Scotland are descendants, 
are said to have been a fair-haired race. 

314. Killarney's side. The Killarney lake region, in the south- 
west part of Ireland. 

319. Katahdin. See note on 1. 18, To an English Friend. The 
Penobscot rises near this mountain and flows south into the Penob- 
scot Bay, an arm of the Atlantic. 

358. That ancient faith, the trust of Erin's child. Erin, a name 
formerly applied to Ireland ; the religious faith referred to is Ca- 
tholicism. 

361-362. Ashes of Helvetia's pile ... of old Servetus smile. 
Michael Servetus (1511-1553), writer and scholar, burned for her- 
esy in Switzerland, poetically known as Helvetia. John Calvin took 
an active part in Servetus' trial and conviction. 

363. "Romish Upas." Upas, a kind of tree growing in Java 
and the neighboring islands, whose sap is poisonous. Note the 
poet's figurative use of it. 

367. De Profundis, Out of the depths. A Latin hymn used in 
the Catholic service ; based on Psalm cxxx. 

384. " Poor Richard's " fellow-citizens. Poor Richard, a char- 
acter in Franklin's Poor Richard's Almanac (published from 
1732 to 1757), who teaches economy to his neighbors by the use of 
maxims. 

386. Teutonic pluck. Teutonic, pertaining to the Teutons, an 
ancient Germanic tribe noted for bravery and persistence. They 
fought valiantly against the Romans, defeating them in several bat- 
tles ; but were finally almost annihilated by Marius in 102 b.c. 

413. " Tom Thumbs." Tom Thumb (Charles S. Stratton, 1838- 
1883), an American dwarf who travelled with P. T. Barnum's show. 
At maturity he was y two feet, four inches, in height. 

417-418. The tumid reptile . . . precious jewel in his head. 



302 NOTES 

The toad, according to popular belief hi mediaeval times, had a 
stone in its head which was valuable as an antidote for poisons. 
Shakespeare gave expression to the superstition ; — 

" Sweet are the uses of adversity, 
Which, like the toad, ugly and venomous, 
Wears yet a precious jewel in his head." 

— As You Like It, II. 1, 12-14. 

450. Miss Harriet Martineau (1802-1886), an English author 
of considerable note. Among her works are TJie Essential Faith 
of the Universal Church, Society in America, Health, Husbandry, 
and Handicraft, and The Philosophy of Comte. 

472. Nor, like slow Ajax, fighting still, retire. Ajax, one of 
the Greek leaders in the Trojan War, noted for his great size and 
strength. He played an especially important part in the struggle 
while Achilles sulked in his tent, at one time saving the Greek 
forces by conducting a masterful retreat. 

" So turned stern Ajax, by whole hosts repelled, 
While his swoln heart at every step rebelled. 
Confiding now in bulky strength he stands, 
Now turns, and backward bears the yielding bands; 
Now still recedes, yet hardly seems to fly, 
And threats his followers with retorted eye." 

— Homer's Iliad, Bk. XI (Pope's translation). 

562. Like bright Apollo, you must take to Rhoades. Apollo, 
the god of light, poetry, and medicine among the Greeks and 
Romans. Rhoades, an island in the Mediterranean Sea, south- 
west of Asia Minor. (See classical dictionary.) 

569. Cis-atlantic. On this side of the Atlantic ; used of the 
eastern or western side according to the standpoint of the speaker. 

581. Erechtheus of Minerva's wall. Erechtheus, a legendary 
Greek hero, who fought bravely in defence of Athens, the favorite 
city of Minerva, goddess of wisdom. (See classical dictionary.) 

582. Young athlete of Louvre's hall. Louvre, a large gallery 



NOTES 303 

and museum in Paris. It contains among its works of art many of 
the masterpieces of the ancient Greek and Roman artists, including 
notable figures of athletes. 

591-592. The filial John . . . with half his drapery on. A 
reference to the nursery rhyme beginning — 

li Tweedle, deedle, dumpling, my son John 
Went to bed with his breeches on." 

622. " Who drives fat oxen." The full quotation is : — 

" Who drives fat oxen should himself be fat." 

Boswell's Life of Johnson, Vol. VIII, Chap. 9. 

647-648. The little Mincio . . . epics of the Hoang Ho. Mincio. 
A small river in the northern part of Italy, which flows into 
the Po. Po. The chief river in Italy. It rises in the northwest 
part and flows east into the Adriatic Sea. Hoang Ho. One of the 
great rivers of China. It rises in the central part and flows north- 
east, east, south, and northeast into the Gulf of Pechili, an arm of 
the Pacific. 

655. She filled young William's fiery fancy full. Shakespeare 
(1564-1616), the greatest of English dramatists. His father was 
a butcher and dealer in wool. 

658. Promethean fire. Prometheus, a character in Greek 
mythology, who was a benefactor of mankind. He stole fire 
from heaven and gave it to man when Zeus had refused it, and for 
punishment was bound on one of the Caucasus Mountains, where 
daily a part of his liver was devoured by an eagle. He was 
finally rescued by Hercules. (See classical dictionary.) 

662. Mont Blanc. The highest of the Alps ; height, 15,781 feet. 

663. Arve and Arveiron. Rivers which rise at the foot of Mont 
Blanc. 

664. Ranz des Vaches. A name given the numerous simple but 
irregular melodies of the Swiss mountaineers, blown on the Alpine 
horn or sung. 



304 NOTES 

665. Lazy Coleridge. Samuel Taylor Coleridge (1772-1834), a 
celebrated English poet and philosopher, author of The Rime of 
the Ancient Mariner, Christabel, etc. Among his poems is one 
addressed to Mont Blanc, entitled Hymn before Sunrise in the Vale 
of Chamouni. 

668. Chamouni. A valley in the eastern part of France at the 
foot of Mont Blanc, watered by the Arve River. It is a favorite 
spot with tourists. 

688. Arethusa. A name applied to various springs in ancient 
Greece. (See classical dictionary.) 

690. Osiris. One of the chief gods in Egyptian mythology. He 
was the creator of all things and the foe of evil. 

706. Creole's wine. Creole, one born of European parents in 
the American colonies of France or Spain, or in the states which 
were once such colonies. Now commonly applied to the natives of 
the Gulf States who are of mixed blood. 

712. Briareus. In Greek mythology a monster with a hundred 
heads. (See classical dictionary.) 

721. Scale the proud shaft. The Bunker Hill monument, 
erected in 1825-1843, to commemorate the battle, and the death of 
General Warren. (See Webster' s Bunker Hill Orations.) 

724. Monadnock's crown. See note on 11. 7-8, For the Meeting 
of the Burns Club. 



INDEX TO NOTES 



A boy . . . three-decker brain, 283. 

Achilles, 279. 

A crash, — as when some swollen 
clond, etc., 294. 

After a Lecture on Keats, 298. 

After a Lecture on Moore, 298. 

After a Lecture on Shelley, 
299. 

After a Lecture on Words- 
worth. 298. 

Agnes, 287. 

Alpine lake, 289. 

And Braddock's army, etc., 275. 

And if I should live, etc., 277. 

And so I come,— like Lochinvar, 
etc., 285. 

An easy gait, — two forty-five, 276. 

Antimonial wine, 299. 

Antwerp, 285. 

Arethusa, 304. 

Armada's knell, 294. 

Arve and Arveiron, 303. 

Ashes of Helvetia's pile, 301. 

As the old poet, 299. 

Athabasca, 287. 

A thousand rills, etc., 298. 

Ave Maria, 292. 

Avon, 293. 

Ayr and Doon, 297. 

Ayrshire peasant, 295. 



Ballad of the Oysterman,The, 

277. 
Bay of Lynn, 288. 
Bells, The, 296. 
Ben Lomond, 297. 
Berkshire hills, 298. 
Blackstone's port, 280. 
Born in a house with a gambrel- 

roof, 282. 
Bourbon lilies, 297. 
Boys, The, 283. 
Braganza's queen, 289. 
Brave Knowles, etc., 288. 
Briareus, 304. 
Briel, 296. 
Brother Jonathan's Lament 

for Sister Caroline, 291. 
Buhl, 276. 

Call Marengo's Chief again, 291. 

Can it be a cabbage ? 281. 

Carlyle, 279. 

Ceylon, 300. 

Chambered Nautilus, The, 

286. 
Chamouni, 304. 
Charles Martel, 290. 
Chelsea Beach, 288. 
Cheviot's Hills, 297. 
Chief Justice Sewall, 282. 



305 



306 



INDEX TO NOTES 



Chloe's beauteous form, etc., 

288. # 
Cintra's hazel-shaded brow, 289. 
Cis- Atlantic, 302. 
Codicil, 282. 
Comet, The, 282. 
Contentment, 275. 
Copies of Luther, 278. 
Corydon and Phyllis, 297. 
Cotton Mather, 282. 
Creole's wine, 304. 
Crystals from the Epsom mine, 

299. 

Deacon's Masterpiece, The, 

275. 
De Profundis, 301. 
Doctor, 283. 
Dodger, 281. 

Dorchester Giant, The, 280. 
Dorchester Heights and Milton 

Hill, 280. 
Dr. Faustus, 284. 
Dumb as the legend, etc., 292. 
Dying Seneca, The, 293. 

Epsom salts, 278. 

Erechtheus of Minerva's wall, 302. 

Erin, 298. 

Essex, 289. 

Evening: by a Tailor, 281. 

Fleming's pride, 294. 

Flemish ale, 285. 

For the Burns Centennial 

Celebration, 296, 
For the Meeting of the Burns 

Club, 292. 
Francis Bacon, 284. 
Frith of Clyde, 296. 



Georgius Secundus, etc., 275. 

Gihon's circling waters, 295. 

Gloucester, 289. 

Good Time Going, A, 295. 

Goose, 281. 

Governor Hancock, 282. 

Gubernator's chair, 276. 

Heavenly Maid, 299. 
Helicon, 284. 
Hinnon's vale, 293. 
Hoang Ho, 303. 
Hollands, 285. 
Homer, 278. 
Houri, 294. 
Houris, 292. 
Hudson, The, 293. 

International Ode, 290. 

Intra Muros, 291. 

I saw along the winter snow, etc., 

294. 
I saw him once before, 277. 
Ishmael's thirst, 295. 
Island Ruin, The, 292. 
I would, perhaps, be Plenipo, 

276. 

Jena's carnage flying red, 290. 
Jove, 300. 
Judge, 283. 

Katahdin, 301. 
Katahdin's wreath, 296. 
Killarney's side, 301. 

La Pucelle, 290. 

Last Leaf, The, 277. 

Lazy Coleridge, 304. 

Leander swam the Hellespont, 277, 



INDEX TO NOTES 



307 



Leucadian breezes, etc., 286. 

Leyden, 294. 

Leydea, where he found conven- 
ticles and schnaps, 285. 

Like bright Apollo, 302. 

Like Ruth's amid the grain, 279. 

Lines recited at the Berk- 
shire Festival, 281. 

Madeira, 285. 

Malakoff takers, 284. 

Man wants but little here below, 

278. 
Marblehead,289. 
Marengo, 290. 
Medford, 282. 
Medio e fonte, 278. 
Meerschaums, 276. 
Meeting of the Dryads, The, 

281. • 
Member of Congress, 283. 
Midas' golden touch, 276. 
Miles Standish, 285. 
Misery Islands, 289. 
Miss Harriet Martineau, 302. 
Mistress of the Seas, 294. 
Modest Request, A, 278. 
Monadnock's crown, 304. 
Mont Blanc, 303. 
Montgomery Place, 284. 
Moriah's height, 293. 
Moslem's paradise, 300. 
Mother's Secret, A, 292. 
Mr. Mayor, 283. 
Music-grinders, The, 283. 

New Eden, The, 294. 

Nine, 279. 

Noah's shoots, etc., 278. 



Nor, like slow Ajax, etc , 302. 
Nux Postccenatica, 284. 

Ode for Washington's Birth- 
day, 297. 

Of fishy Swampscot, salt Nahant, 
288. 

Of Wituwamet's pictured knife,293. 

Old Ironsides, 289. 

Old Man of the Sea, The, 281. 

Old Player, The, 292. 

One lift of Bayard's lance, 291. 

On Lending a Punch-bowl, 285. 

Or double Joe, 292. 

Oregon, 287. 

Osiris, 304. 

Osi sic omnia ! 278. 

Our Limitations, 291. 

Pallas, 291: 

Parson Turell's Legacy, 282. 

Pegasus, 284. 

Pequot's ringing whoop, 286. 

Pharaohs' or the Athenian's creed, 

300. 
Pilgrim's Vision, The, 293. 
Pink as Aurora's finger-tips, 291. 
Ploughman, The, 289. 
Pluck Conde's baton, etc., 290. 
Po, 303. 
Poem, A, 296. 
Pontchartrain, 296. 
Poor Richard's fellow-citizens, 301. 
Pope, 278. 

Portuguese moidore, 292. 
President Everett's inauguration, 

'278. 
President Holyoke's day, 282. 
Promethean fire, 303. 



308 



INDEX TO NOTES 



<^ui Vive! 290. 

Ranz des Vaches, 303. 

Robinson of Leyden, 295. 

Roger Bacon, 284. 

Romeo, . . . bronzed Moor, etc., 292. 

Romish Upas, 301. 

Roxbury Hills, 280. 

Royal Society, 282. 

Ruth, 293. 

Salem's frugal sires, 289. 

Sardonic grin, 299. 

Sauve qui peut, 284. 

Scale the proud shaft, 304. 

Scotia's morning sky, 297. 

Sculpin, 280. 

Seneca, 293. 

Shawls of true cashmere, 276. 

Shawmut, 288. 

She filled young William's fiery 

fancy full, 303. 
Shenstone, 297. 
Shirley's homespun days, 288. 
Sierra's shade, 289. 
Siren, 286. 

Sirocco's wings, 295. 
Sleep where gentle Adonais lies, 

299. 
Speaker, 283. 

Speedwell's anchor swung, 295. 
Spezzia's treacherous bay, 299. 
Spring, 291. 
Spring has Come, 291. 
St. Botolph's island-studded bay, 

292. 
Steel of Herod's murdering bands, 

293. 
St. George's blood-red cross, 294. 



St. James, 276. 

Stradivarius, 276. 

Sweet Little Man, The, 283. 

Teutonic pluck, 301. 

That ancient faith, etc., 301. 

That boy . . . mathematical look, 
283. 

That boy we call Doctor, 283. 

That saw the young Euphrates, 294. 

That was the year when Lisbon, 
etc., 275. 

The Celtic blackness, etc., 301. 

The Chapel, 300. 

The creeping Maas, 296. 

The filialJohn, etc., 303. 

The Giant, 300. 

The glorious John, etc., 280. 

The God of music, etc., 298. 

The Judge, 284. 

The little Mincio, 303. 

Themis, 280. 

The Northern Minstrel, 300. 

The Rose, The Shamrock, etc., 297. 

The simpler pile, 300. 

The soldiers that scaled the Redan, 
284. 

The Southern spire. 300. 

The stern disciple, etc., 300. 

The Thames, the Clyde, etc., 297. 

The tumid reptile, etc., 301. 

The Vice-Gub, 282. 

The wreath . . . lying on thy Ro- 
man grave, 298. 

They flung it over, etc., 280. 

Titan, 292. 

Titians and Raphaels . . . Turner, 
276. 

To an English Friend, 296. 



INDEX TO NOTES 



309 



Tom Thumbs, 301. 

Tritou, 286. 

Turemie, 291. 

Turkish ataghan, 292. 

'Twas in the second George's day, 

288. 
Two Streams, The, 287. 
Tyburn's dangling halter, 292. 
Tyrian dye, 282. 

Urania, 299. 

Verses for After-dinner, 280. 
Vesuvius flings the scoriae, 285. 
Vive La France ! 290. 
Voiceless, The, 286. 

Wachuset's lonely mound, 288. 
Wachusett to Ben Nevis, 297. 



Wandering Jew, 281. 

When all her towers, etc., 289. 

When Pilate's hall, etc., 292. 

When Sinai's summit, 291. 

Who drives fat oxen, 303. 

Who used to follow Timothy, etc., 

285. 
Wiltshire Avon's wave, 289. 
Wise Phipps, 288. 
Wolfe was climbing, 297. 

You hear that boy laughing? 

283. 
Young athlete of Louvre's hall, 

302. 
Ysselmond, 296. 

Zuyder-Zee, 296. 



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De Quincey's Confessions of an English Opium-Eater. Edited by 
ARTHUR Beatty, University of Wisconsin. 

De Quincey's Joan of Arc and The English Mail-Coach. Edited by 
CAROL M. NEWMAN, Virginia Polytechnic Institute, Blacksburg, 
Va. 

Dickens's A Christmas Carol and The Cricket on the Hearth. Edited by 
James M. Sawin, with the collaboration of Ida M. Thomas. 

Dickens's A Tale of Two Cities. Edited by H. G. Buehler, Hotchkiss 
School, Lakeville, Conn. 

Dryden's Palamon and Arcite. Edited by Percival Chubb, Vice-Prin- 
cipal Ethical Culture Schools, New York City. 

Early American Orations, 1760-1824. Edited by Louie R. Heller, In- 
structor in English in the De Witt Clinton High School, New York City. 

Edwards's (Jonathan) Sermons (Selections). Edited by H. N. Gar- 
diner, Professor of Philosophy, Smith College. 

Emerson's Essays (Selected). Edited by Eugene D. Holmes, High 
School, Albany, N.Y. 

Emerson's Representative Men. Edited by Philo Melvyn Buck, Jr., 
William McKinley High School, St. Louis, Mo. 

Epoch-making Papers in United States History. Edited by M. S. Brown, 
New York University. 

Franklin's Autobiography. 

Mrs. Gaskell's Cranford. Edited by Professor Martin W. Sampson, 
Indiana University. 

George Eliot's Silas Marner. Edited by* E. L. Gulick, Lawrenceville 
School, Lawrenceville, N.J. 

Goldsmith's The Deserted Village and The Traveller. Edited by Robert 
N. WHITEFORD, High School, Peoria, 111. 

Goldsmith's Vicar of Wakefield. Edited by H. W. BOYNTON, Phillips 
Academy, Andover, Mass. 

Grimm's Fairy Tales. Edited by James H. Fassett, Superintendent of 
Schools, Nashua, N.H. 

Hawthorne's Grandfather's Chair. Edited by H. H. Kingsley, Superin- 
tendent of Schools, Evanston, 111. 

Hawthorne's The House of the Seven Gables. Edited by Clyde Furst, 
Secretary of Teachers College, Columbia University. 

Hawthorne's The Wonder-Book. Edited by L. E. Wolfe, Superintendent 
of Schools, San Antonio, Texas. 

Hawthorne's Twice-Told Tales. Edited by R. C. Gaston, Richmond Hill 
High School, Borough of Queens, New York City. 

Homer's Iliad. Translated by Lang, Leaf, and Myers. 

Homer's Odyssey. Translated by Butcher and Lang. 

Trving's Alhambra. Edited by Alfred M. Hitchcock, Public High 
School, Hartford, Conn. 

trving's Life of Goldsmith. Edited by Gilbert Sykes Blakely, 
Teacher of English in the Morris High School, New York City. 

Irving 's Sketch Book. 

Keary's Heroes of Asgard. Edited by CHARLES H. MORSE, Superintend- 
ent of Schools, Medford, Mass. 



Pocket Series of English Classics — Continued 



Kingsley's The Heroes: Greek Fairy Tales. Edited by Charles A. 
McMurry, Ph.D. 

Lamb's Essays of Elia. Edited by Helen J. Robins, Miss Baldwin s 
School, Bryn Mawr, Pa. 

Longfellow's Courtship of Miles Standish. Edited by Homer P. Lewis. 

Longfellow's Courtship of Miles Standish. Edited by W. D. Howe, 
Butler College, Indianapolis, Ind. 

Longfellow's Evangeline. Edited by Lewis B. Semple, Commercial 
High School, Brooklyn, N.Y. 

Longfellow's Tales of a Wayside Inn. Edited by J. H. Castleman, 
William McKinley High School, St. Louis, Mo. 

Longfellow's The Song of Hiawatha. Edited by Elizabeth J. Flem- 
ing, Teachers' Training School, Baltimore, Md. 

Lowell's Vision of Sir Launfal. Edited by Herbert E. Bates, Manual 
Training High School, Brooklyn, N.Y. 

Macaulay's Essay on Addison. Edited by C. W. French, Principal of 
Hyde Park High School, Chicago, 111. 

Macaulay's Essay on Clive. Edited by J. W. Pearce, Assistant Pro- 
fessor of English in Tulane University. 

Macaulay's Essay on Johnson. Edited by William Schuyler, Assist- 
ant Principal of the St. Louis High School. 

Macaulay's Essay on Milton. Edited by C. W. French. 

Macaulay's Essay on Warren Hastings. Edited by Mrs. M. J. Frick, 
Los Angeles, Cal. 

Macaulay's Lays of Ancient Rome, and other Poems. Edited by Frank- 
lin T. BAKER, Teachers College, Columbia University. 

Memorable Passages from the Bible (Authorized Version). Selected 
and edited by Fred NEWTON SCOTT, Professor of Rhetoric in the 
University of Michigan. 

Milton's Comus, Lycidas, and other Poems. Edited by Andrew J. 
George. 

Milton's Paradise Lost, Books I and II. Edited by W. I. Crane, Steele 
High School, Dayton, O. 

Old English Ballads. Edited by William D. Armes, of the University 
of California. 

Out of the Northland. Edited by Emilie Kip Baker. 

Palgrave's Golden Treasury of Songs and Lyrics. 

Plutarch's Lives of Caesar, Brutus, and Antony. Edited by Martha 
Brier, Teacher of English in the Polytechnic High School, Oak- 
land, Cal. 

Poe's Poems. Edited by Charles W. Kent, Linden Kent Memorial 
School, University of Virginia. 

Poe's Prose Tales (Selections from) . 

Pope's Homer's Iliad. Edited by Albert Smyth, Head Professor of Eng- 
lish Language and Literature, Central High School, Philadelphia, Pa. 

Pope's The Rape of the Lock. Edited by Elizabeth M. King, Louisi- 
ana Industrial Institute, Ruston, La. 

Ruskin's Sesame and Lilies and The King of the Golden River. Edited 
by Herbert E. Bates. 

Scott's Ivanhoe. Edited by Alfred M. Hitchcock. 



Pocket Series of English Classics — Continued 



Scott's Lady of the Lake. Edited by Elizabeth A. Packard, Oak* 
land, Cal. 

Scott's Lay of the Last Minstrel. Edited by Ralph H. Bowles. 

Scott's Marmion. Edited by George B. Aiton, State Inspector of High 
Schools for Minnesota. 

Scott's Quentin Durward. Edited by Arthur Llewellyn Eno, In- 
structor in the University of Illinois. 

Scott's The Talisman. Edited by Frederick Treudley, State Normal 
College, Ohio University. 

Shakespeare's As You Like It. Edited by Charles Robert Gaston. 

Shakespeare's Hamlet. Edited by L. A. Sherman, Professor of English 
Literature in the University of Nebraska. 

Shakespeare's Henry V. Edited by Ralph Hartt Bowles, Phillips 
Exeter Academy, Exeter, N.H. 

Shakespeare's Julius Caesar. Edited by George W. Hufford and 
Lois G. Hufford, High School, Indianapolis, Ind. 

Shakespeare's Merchant of Venice. Edited by Charlotte W. Under- 
wood, Lewis Institute, Chicago, 111. 

Shakespeare's Macbeth. Edited by C. W. French. 

Shakespeare's Twelfth Night. Edited by Edward P. Morton, Assist- 
ant Professor of English in the University of Indiana. 

Shelley and Keats (Selections from). Edited by S. C. Newsom. 

Southern Poets (Selections from). Edited by W. L. Weber, Professor 
of English Literature in Emory College, Oxford, Ga. 

Spenser's Faerie Queene, Book I. Edited by George Armstrong 
WAUCHOPE, Professor of English in the South Carolina College. 

Stevenson's Treasure Island. Edited by H. A. Vance, Professor of Eng- 
lish in the University of Nashville. 

Swift's Gulliver's Travels. Edited by Clifton Johnson. 

Tennyson's Idylls of the King. Edited by W. T. Vlymen, Principal 
of Eastern District High School, Brooklyn, N.Y. 

Tennyson's Shorter Poems. Edited by Charles Read Nutter, In- 
structor in English at Harvard University ; sometime Master in Eng- 
lish at Groton School. 

Tennyson's The Princess. Edited by Wilson Farrand, Newark Acad- 
emy, Newark, N.J. 

Thackeray's Henry Esmond. Edited by John Bell Henneman, Uni- 
versity of the South, Sewanee, Tenn. 

Washington's Farewell Address, and Webster's First Bunker Hill Ora- 
tion. Edited by WILLIAM T. PECK, Classical High School, Provi- 
dence, R.I. 

John Woolman's Journal. 

Wordsworth's Shorter Poems. Edited by Edward Fulton, Assistant 
Professor of Rhetoric in the University of Illinois. 



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